


A Relationship Anthology

by Paintthebrain



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: A collection of all the moments that pulled them toward each other, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Clexa, F/F, Fluff and Angst, It takes them a little while to meet so kind of like a, Minor Character Death, Modern AU, Slow Burn, Superfluff, clexa modern au, eventual smoot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-05-10 19:52:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 56,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5598712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paintthebrain/pseuds/Paintthebrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Life is a braid, Clarke. The people we meet. Their presence in our lives whether we know they are there or not, we are tied to them. And them to us. Woven into each other’s lives. Our story is their story. The thinnest of strings. The thickest of ropes. All twisting together..."<br/>- Jake Griffin</p><p>A modern AU in which Clarke and Lexa are just plain meant to be. It’s all about connections - a compilation of vignettes detailing how all of the relationships in Clarke and Lexa’s lives, including friends and family, teach them who they are as people and prepare them for the love of their lives. Lexa is an awkward and squishy squid masquerading as a regal clam with an impenetrable shell. Clarke is all confidence and Burberry moonbeams.<br/>*Featuring every Clexa relationship milestone we deserve.* </p><p>NEW CHAPTER: LUNA BATEAU AND SOMEDAY</p><p> <br/>ENJOY!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jake Griffin and the Girl(s) of His Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Graphic depictions of blood and other nauseating things. Like sappy love stories.
> 
> [Kissy noises]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy! And welcome to A Relationship Anthology!  
> These little vignettes were inspired by some of my own experiences splashing around in the dating pool like some dying fucking sea monkey. And by others' trials and tribulations. A lot of them are from the fevered day dreams deep within the tiny pink convolutions of my mind.  
> Each chapter has it's own harry potter style [Name and phrase I.E. Lexa Woods and the Gaggle of Squids, Clarke Griffin and the Awkward Incident No One Brings Up Anymore, Octavia Blake and the Philosopher's Bone] The name indicate who's perspective the chapter is written in and the phrase gives little clues as to what is happening in the chapter. Sometimes this is pretty straight forward, sometimes there is dual or covert meanings. This fic is written with intricately woven plot details and connections. I call them seeds. I hope you love watching them grow as much as I have loved planting them.  
> Have fun!

**Jake Griffin and the Girl(s) of His Dreams**

* * *

 

 

 **Duke** **University**

**September 1981**

**The Quad**

He didn’t mean to meet her. She was the girl of his dreams. But that didn’t matter. Dreams were just that. Dreams. Not meant to take shape. He had no intention of introducing himself. But sometimes dreams find their way into our waking lives.

He was walking to class. He had just stopped at the campus store to pick up a bottle of lemonade. It was still extremely hot for mid September and he had back to back 4 credit courses. That meant 6 hours in a dilapidated laboratory reserved for grad students., The one with no air conditioning. He knew he would need a little something to quench his thirst. He toyed with the idea of storing his beverage in liquid nitrogen to keep it cold just as he noticed there were only few people left on the quad.

 Jake checked his watch. He was going to be late so he picked up the pace. He detected Abby, the aforementioned girl of his dreams, coming down the stairs perpendicular to his current trajectory. If she descended quickly enough, they were bound to cross paths. He began to panic just a bit. In his hurried and distracted state, his over-sized penny loafers gave out from beneath him and he fell face forward on to the pavement. The glass bottle shattering under his palm.

 He stood up in shock. And looked directly at Abby. She was just staring at him. She wasn’t making fun of him. She wasn’t doing anything. Just staring. Jake ran his finger through his hair and he felt wetness on his face. Warm and sticky. “What the..?”

 He pulled his hand down and looked at it. It was covered in blood. He turned it over so his palm faced up. The sight nearly made him gag. The bottle. Most of it was imbedded in his palm.

He was most definitely panicking now. He had no idea what to do. Just as he was starting to feel a little light headed, he felt someone lift his uninjured arm and put it over their shoulders. The rest was a blur. The next thing he remembers is being in the university’s medical clinic with someone wrapping his wounded hand.

 “That was a nasty fall,” She says. “Are you ok?”

 “Yes. I think so. How did I get here?”

 “I brought you here.”

Jake looks up and meets the most beautiful brown eyes he has ever seen. “Abby?” He says in shock.

She smiles. “You know who I am?”

 Jake wishes he could just pass out right now instead of dying from embarrassment. “Uh, I’ve seen you around. Med Student, right?”

 “How did you know?” A burgeoning smile dancing on her lips.

 “I can tell by your handiwork.” He lifts up his recently gauzed appendage. _Ugh. Jake. Knock it off with your terrible puns._

 Just as he was about to run out of the room screaming. She chuckles. “Well thank you very much…um…?”

 “Jacob…Jake. Griffin.” He squirms at his own formality, but relaxes a bit when he sees a full smile on Abby’s mouth now.

 “Abigail… Abby. Candide.” Jake sees a twinkle in her eye. “Well, I think it’s about time we wrap this up.” She says and when the pun hits Jake full in the face, he immediately blurts out an invitation to a date.

 She immediately agrees.

 There was a first date. And then a Second. A first kiss. A first argument. Make up. Everything that comes with finding love.

 Jake married Abby in June of the following year. His one true pairing. The girl of his dreams. The love of his life.

 Well.

 

That was until he met _her_.

 

 

 **Washington** **DC**

**November 4, 1987**

**Memorial** **Hospital**

Abby looked exhausted. She just didn’t have anything left to give. She leaned back and put her hands to her eyes as she began to cry. “I can’t believe it, Jake. I just can’t believe it.” She let a sob escape. “After all this time. After all we’ve been through”

 “I know” Jake said. He couldn’t look at his wife. He was stupefied by his own thoughts. “It will be ok. I promise.”

 A woman, a nurse, entered the room. “Are you ready?” Abby pulled her hands down from her face and whipped a deadly look at the new occupant of the room, scrutinizing her with her bleary brown orbs. Then she looked at Jake with soft, pleading eyes. Jake nodded and walked towards the nurse with one last look at his wife of 5 years. Abby’s face was awash in pure grief.

 He walked with this nurse down the hall. She stopped to look at him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “She’s fine. Don’t worry.” She forced Jake to meet her eyes.

 “Clarke is fine.”

 And for the first time since Abby got pregnant, Jake Griffin could breathe.

 “We just needed to do a few tests. Standard procedure for high risk pregnancies like this one and especially since, you know, the multiple miscarriages before.” Her voice trailed off. “Are you ready to meet your daughter?”

 He nodded.

 They walked to the nursery. She placed a little bundle of pink blankets in his hands and Jake finally allowed himself to cry.

 This was the other girl he had been dreaming about. Ever since he married Abby. Even after all the strife and misery they have had trying to conceive a child, he couldn’t help but hope for this moment. As he looked down into her barely open blue eyes, he knew this was the other love of his life.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Click here to TUMBLE](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/paintthebrain) with me.
> 
> And speculate about seeds and connections. Ask questions. The tag for this fic is #aRa and can also be found under #my fics. Comments, kudos, and "Hey there hot stuff"s are always appreciated! Stay Awesome!



	2. Luna Bateau and the Night That Lasted for 34 weeks

**New York City**

**Late August 1985 12:42am**

**The F train to Queens**

She had just finished an extended 2nd shift at a 24 hour Medical Research Clinic in Manhattan. She was sweaty and emotionally beat down. It was her job to assess incoming patients for experimental radiation trials. People would come in at all hours of the day and night. Referred to them by neighboring hospitals.

 

The doctors from those hospitals would deliver the devastating news with cold faces and unsympathetic ears. “I’m sorry, but your cancer is inoperable.” Then as the family and patient were crying uncontrollably, they would reveal the little ace up their sleeve. “There is one more thing you can try.” Essentially dumping the emotionally wounded on Luna.

So the family would find themselves at this clinic at midnight. Praying. Begging for just a sliver of hope. Seeking solace from such devastating news.

 

Luna would look at them in their sunken eyes and scoop them up into her sunshine and try to comfort them in ways that no one else could. This was the only place on the eastern seaboard using radation to cure cancer.

 

Nuclear medicine was a new and upcoming field. She had just finished her doctorate in May. She landed this gig right after she graduated. And she couldn’t have been more thrilled to be working in such a dynamic research field.

 

. So basically, she was their last hope. She would assess them. Check to see how far the cancer had spread, rate them, and with as much compassion as she could muster, she would tell them if they could live or if they would die.

 

She checked her appearance in the darken windows of the subway. At night, they were like mirrors. Even with the weight of a hundred lives on her shoulders she still looked vivacious. Beautiful mahogany locks quaffed and teased to perfection. Her stick straight bangs stood up to the trials of a 10 hour shift. And her olive skin glowed even against the harsh florescent lighting cascading down on them.

 

The brunette was tired of playing god. Of being the good Sheppard. Pouring her body, heart and soul to every person that walk through the doors of her clinic. She just needed a little release. No heart or soul. Just body.

 

It came in the form of a rather dapper looking man with creamy skin and a cocky smirk. His seemingly fit body was wrapped in a well tailored suit and crowned with a strong jaw and regal green eyes. He sat across from her on the subway, pretending to read, but really he was just unabashedly gazing at her.

 

When their eyes connected, his smirk grew into a disarming grin. “What brings you here at such a late hour?”

 

She matched his confidence. “I could ask you the same thing?”

 

He chuckled softly. “Touche.” He looked away for a minute and then slowly raised his green eyes until Luna her heart rate begin to rise. “Just getting off work. You?”

 

“Same.” She gave him her best suggestive glance

 

“Care for some company?” He asked non-chalantly. _Oh this will do. This will do just fine._

She looked down to the seat beside her. And brought her gaze back up slowly, seductively. She smoldered and her half-lidded eyes connected with his.

 

He folded up his paper and quickly obliged.

 

There was a first laugh. And then a Second. The first time he touched her thigh. The first time she caressed his chin. Everything that comes with finding a one night stand.

 

When Luna stood to get off at her stop, he stood with her.

 

“Your place or mine?” And threw her his cocky grin

 

“Mine.”

 

He was gone in the morning. Nothing left, but a satisfying feeling all over her body.

 

 

 

 

Well.

 

 

Except for one thing.

__

 

**New York City**

**May 15 th, 1986**

**Lenox Hill** **Medical Center**

 

She had decided within the first month that she would give  up for adoption. There’s was no way she would let this stop her now. She had pulled herself up by her boot straps and found a way into a medical program even though her family had been completely broke. She had made it into one of the top programs in the world, in the most competitive field, and to top it all off she did it while being a woman. Women could do advanced medicine. It was a thing. But for some reason the Boy’s Club at Johns Hopkins University never got the memo. It had been exceptionally hard to get from one end of the hospital to the other without being called ‘nurse’ at least twice during the trip. And that was only if no male attending stopped her to give her his coffee order.

 

And now she had a shared lab with another amazing female doctor. Doing groundbreaking work.

 

There no way she was going to give up her hard-fought path to success over a single dalliance. Over one stupid agonizing mistake. No way.

 

One way.

 

The lilting cries of her new born filled the room. And a part of Luna ached. Whole sections of her body wished to reach out to her baby. Wished that keeping her was the right thing to do. But it wasn’t. Someone else could give her a better life. Luna's career, her trials could lead to countless lives saved. With tears in her eyes, she caught a glimpse of a shock of dark hair before the doctor asked, “Confirm two weeks premature, yes? And name?”

 

“Yes, two weeks. And Lexa Allegra Bateau.” Luna managed to squeak out the spelling of the name between choked sobs for the doctor. He nodded pointedly and handed her the paper as the nurses carried the infant from the room.

 

 

 

She signed the birth certificate. It was done.

 

For now.

 

 

 

 

 

“May we meet again, Little Lexa.”

 

 

 

“Some day.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Click here to TUMBLE](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/paintthebrain) with me.
> 
> 



	3. Anya Woods and the Parade of Babies, Infants, and Toddlers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW! Thanks for all the support and interest in this. You guys are the absolute best!

Anya Woods and the Parade of Babies, Infants, and Toddlers

* * *

 

 

 **White Plains** **, NY**

**Early November 1986**

**Future Family Adoption Agency**

“No. Not this one. She is too squishy.” Anya looked up at her adoptive mother with a furrowed brow and her little tongue poking out from between her little white teeth. One finger pointing at the new born in the bassinette.

“Are you sure, Anya?” Indra looked to her husband and he just shook his head and let a soft smile fall on to his lips. This was the second new born they had visited. “Wouldn’t you like to spend more time getting to know her?” Little Anya shook her head fervently they knew what were they were signing up for when they adopted Anya. “Maybe she would make a good little sister.”

It’s not that the Woods were letting their 8 year old adoptive daughter pick out the new addition to their family like some sofa or a puppy or something, but more like giving Anya a little control in the situation.

Lord knows little Anya had needed some control in her life. Her entire existence had been change, change, and more change. Moving from shelter to shelter with her homeless mother from birth to the age of 3. Being plucked from her mother and put into the foster care system. She had been thrust from foster home to foster home. The care givers not having the ability to understand her fiery nature or the patience it took to calm a child with such explosive reactions to small things. They weren’t bad people or bad parents. It just takes a very specific person to understand what that much uncertainty does to a child. They just weren’t able to give her what she needed. Time to heal. Time to trust.

Indra and Gustus Woods were those people. They were the perfect combination of stern and sweet, Strict and nurturing. They pushed her, but they also understood her. It had been a little over two years since they adopted Anya and in that time her tantrums decreased and her ability to be flexible with novel situations increased. But she still had a long way to go.

So when the Woods decided after much planning that they wanted to adopt a second child, they knew they were going to have to be patient. Very patient. Very VERY patient.

Because while Anya could adjust to small changes in routine, she was still not able to trust in an unknown future. She was not able to believe that when a new situation came up that the situation would have a positive outcome.

So, no, It wasn’t so much that Anya was picking her new baby brother or sister, but more that she was accepting that he or she was coming. She was accepting the change. And the Woods’ being the amazing parents that they were knew that when Anya had fully processed her fears and come to terms with how different her life would be, then and only then would Anya be able to make a decision.

 

 **Allentown** **, Pennsylvania**

**Mid December, 1986**

**Duquesne** **Adoption Center**

The halls were a sea foam green with vanilla accents. It was one of the nicer places they had visited. So when they brought her potential new brother in to meet her, Anya felt a little hopeful.

That didn’t last long.

“He smells funny.” Anya said as she approached her parents

Indra and Gustus had watched their daughter as she interacted with the toddler. She was still not quite ready yet, but getting there. So as she approached, Gustus knelt to meet her. He opened his mouth to check her certainty in her decision, but before he could, Anya raised a tiny hand. “Yes, Daddy. I am sure.” And she turned on her heel, her child-sized Chuck Taylor’s squeaking on the linoleum, and walked towards the exit.

Indra walked to the reception desk and said their farewells while Gustus caught up with his feisty daughter. He put a hand on her shoulder. At the touch, she turned to him, her eyes just completing the circuit in her sockets. Her signature eye roll. “Daaaad, I am suuuuure.”

He chuckled. She certainly had a lot of personality. And he loved her for it. “That’s not it, Anya. I wanted to let you know that it’s ok. And to remind you that I love you. I love who you are, little one. It’ll be ok. I promise.”

She smiled, “Ok, Daddy. I love you too.”

 

 **West Chester** **, Pennsylvania**

**January, 1987**

**Marion-Detwiler Memorial Orphanage**

“Her hair sticks out at funny angles and she pinched me.”

 

 **Hershey** **, Pennsylvania**

**Still January, 1987**

**Milton** **Hershey School**

“He was ok. But his eyes were, what do you call it, Daddy?”

“Shifty! His eyes were shifty.”

 

**Havre De Grace, Maryland**

**January (surprise, surprise), 1987**

**A Baby Step Adoption Agency, INC**

She lasted nearly half an hour this time due to several games of tic tac toe. She seemed to be enjoying herself before she declared him to be a cheater even though she had won most of the games.

Gustus interlaced his fingers with his wife’s as they watched their daughter move to the other side of the playroom and began to stack blocks by herself. He sighed, but Indra just smiled and squeezed his hand. “She’s getting there, Gustus. She is making her peace. Won’t be long now.”

“I know.” And he mirrored her smile.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I hope you enjoyed this and thanks for taking the time to read it!
> 
> [Click here to TUMBLE](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/paintthebrain) with me.
> 
> Comments, kudos, and food-based terms of endearment are always appreciated, you beautiful poptarts! Stay Awesome!



	4. Gustus and Indra Woods and the Mountain of Paperwork

 

* * *

 

**Rising Sun, Maryland**

**Late January 1987**

**Cranberry Orphanage**

Gustus stood looking out the window. A blanket of fresh snow covered the grounds. The rolling hills of northern Maryland looked like something out of a fairy tale. Inside the derelict building, Indra sat observing Anya as she brought various Barbies to life inside of a an offensively pink dollhouse. Plastered all along the deteriorating walls of the office, were posters displaying a different kind of fairy tale – happy couples with their perfect children.

Indra and Gustus had been right. Anya was ready. Or maybe Lexa had made her ready. Whatever the reason, Anya had fallen in love and was only convinced to leave the infant after the social worker told her that she had a certain miniature plastic woman and it was waiting for the little girl in her office.

“What is an anchored adoption?” Gustus inquires, turning around from the window and stepping forward to where his wife sat. Little wires of his beard moving with his breath.

The social worker appeared to brace her self. “It’s rare. Granted to special cases.” She set her feet on the floor and tried to put on a show, but it was obvious she had done this before with little success. Lexa was a beautiful child. Lazy brown curls falling from every angle of her head. Expressive green eyes. She appeared even-tempered and smart even in her infancy. She didn’t smile or laugh much, but when she did it was like seeing a shooting star and Indra and Gustus couldn’t help but feel the whimsy in it. Normally newborns find family right away. And Lexa seemed so wonderful, but she was 8 months old now and still hadn’t been adopted yet. So there must be a catch.

The social worker tucked a greying curl behind her ear and reached for a rather thick file on her desk. Stamped across the front in red letters: Lexa Allegra Bateau – Adoption Agreement. The husband and wife had seen a lot of these files in their pursuit to become parents. Lexa’s was the thickest. By at least a half an inch

“It’s like an open adoption, but the biological mother would have more than just visits. Lexa would be granted permission to return to her biological mother at anytime after the age of 12. Provided that both Lexa and the mother wanted that.”

“So we would be foster parents?” Indra did not like where was this going.

“Yes. And no.” The social worker knew what was coming. When people decided to make a family, they wanted it to be forever. “There is a chance that you would not have sole custody of Lexa. I know it’s complicated, but in most cases this kind of agreement was made because of the biological parents and not the child.”

“That doesn’t seem right.” Indra said not looking up because Anya had wandered over to her requesting help putting a sweater on the Barbie. Remembering Anya’s disorientating past, she added. “Stability is important.”

“Between you and I, Mrs. Woods, I agree. But in cases like these, it is believed that the additional guidance from the biological parent would be an asset to the child.”

Sensing the question in the couple before her, the social worker continued, “They are usually someone of influence that has made something of him or herself and regretted having to give up the child for adoption.”

Gustus ‘s eyes scanned the packet of paperwork. His eyes were so brown they appeared black, but there was warmth in them when he looked to his daughter and then met the gaze of his wife. They both had known what they were going to decide the moment little Lexa had wrapped her tiny hand around Anya’s finger. They were committed no matter the obstacles. “Alright,” he said, “What’s it going to take?”

The social worker smiled and handed over the heavy packet.

 

**The Woods Residence**

**February - June 1987**

**Lancaster, Pennsylvania**

There were so many home visits with varying members of the agency. Unannounced check ups from the social worker. Multiple interviews with every member of the Woods clan. A thorough scrutiny of their lives and abilities as parents. And the paperwork had only just begun.

 

 

 

It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t a fairytale.

 

 

It was better.

 

 

 

 

 

Because Lexa was here now.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Click here to TUMBLE](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/paintthebrain) with me.
> 
>   * Behind the scenes: This was inspired by a case I worked on a couple years ago.
>   * Fun Fact: The House on Mango Street is one of my favorite books and I fell in love with the Vignette-style of writing as a result of it.
>   * You guuuuuys! Thank you so much for all your support! And wisdom and kindness.
> 



	5. Clarke Griffin and the Monkey Bars of Matrimony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the chronology is going to skip around a bit from here on out. If you have any questions, please ask! I write these for you.

**Annapolis, Maryland**

**October 1997**

**Polis Haven Elementary School  
**

 

 

They’d been together for 3 weeks already. And he was ready for the next step. He proposed to her by giving her a note after reading class and by the time morning snack had rolled around the entire school was thrumming with the gossip. They’re the perfect couple! It makes sense! Did you hear?

 

When lunch came the whole cafeteria had their eyes on the couple. They were laughing and giggling. It was true love.

 

It did make sense. They were the perfect couple. Travis and Clarke were both well-like. Good-looking. He was nice to her. That was enough. That’s all you needed.

 

They were married in a short ceremony with her BFF Wells as the officiate. It was cute and it was humble. The monkey bars made the perfect altar in which to declare their vows. They exchanged jelly bracelets. He promised to always buy her Valentine ’s Day cards. She promised to always watch his kickball games.

 

They both promised forever.

 

 

 

 **Polis** **Haven Elementary School**

**Early December 1997 Recess**

**Multi-Purpose Room**

 

Marriage is hard.

 

Students had just finished their lunch and were matriculating into the multipurpose room. This room was designed to be a gym, stage, and auditorium, but in colder months it was where students gathered for recess. Students began to settle at their desired stations. Some were playing board games. Some played cards. Others sat at tables quietly chatting

 

“Can I have some of your hot chocolate?” He asked as he shifted sandy blonde hair out of his eyes.

 

“No, Travis.” Clarke gave him a glare that said _are you even serious right now._ “I earned this. If you wanted one you should have listen to Mrs. Andersen and earned your tickets by being kind and responsible.”

 

Certain hard-working 5th graders were given special privileges during recess. Clarke reaped the benefits of being naturally kind and responsible by grabbing a hot chocolate and moving to the bean bag chairs. It was bad enough Travis was sitting on the bean bag chairs. _You didn’t earn these either._

 

“Yea, but being responsible means doing my work. I don’t wanna do my work. Come on, Clark-ie, just a sip.”

 

Clarke normally did things for people. She gave selflessly. But under one condition – it was the right thing to do. Travis refused to do the right thing. He just skirted by on his charm and good looks. And she had enough.

 

“I said no. You know what, _Trav-ie!_ You’re holding me back. I want a divorce.” Clarke had learned that word from Wells. His parents had gotten one last year. Wells told her that it meant his parents didn’t want to hang out anymore.

 

She ripped off the bracelet and threw it on the chair beside him.

 

 

He looked at her with shock for a brief second. But then he rolled his eyes and went over to where a group of his friends were playing Sorry.

 

Clarke wasn’t sorry.

 

She had decided.

 

 

 

 

Travis had not earned her either.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your. Comments. Give. Me. Life.
> 
> Please don't ever stop.
> 
>  
> 
> But only if I've earned them. :)
> 
> [Click here to TUMBLE](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/paintthebrain) with me.
> 
> Please, come and discuss literally anything with me.



	6. Lexa Woods and the Building of the Great Wall

**The Playground**

**Spring of 5 th Grade, 1996**

**A purple tube slide**

 

She’s not entirely sure how she got here. Had it always been like this? She was alone, finding comfort in the tight space, the cool thick plastic pressing into her legs. She was covered in a lavender shadow. “Lexa! Move! I want to use the slide.”

 

 

 **Lancaster** **, Pennsylvania**

**September 1991 Kindergarten**

**Walking home from school**

 

“How was your first day?” Anya asked the tiny girl with the chestnut curls. A single finger engulfed by several small ones. Just like the day they met. She swings their hands between them. “Is school everything you thought it would be?”

 

“Truthfully? It was very easy. But still. I am excited for my adventures in academia.” Lexa said with an inflection beyond her 6 years. But then paused for a moment. “A boy called me weird, Anya. That I did not like.”

 

“You are weird, baby sis.” Anya mused. As she said it, she scooped up her favorite person in the world. “It’s the most beautiful thing about you.”

 

Lexa allowed herself an unfamiliar giggle before she blew raspberries onto her big sister’s cheek. Slightly out of breath she managed to inquire about Anya’s big day. “How was middle school?”

 

Anya huffed out a laugh. “I miss kindergarten. Paints. Nap time. Snacks. That’s the life. Enjoy it while it lasts, kid.” She set her little sister down and resumed the swinging of their arms.

**___**

**Conestoga Elementary**

**September 1991**

**The principal’s office**

 

Kindergarten didn’t last very long.

 

Gustus Woods eyed George Attipo with distrust and uncertainty. Just as the quaking middle aged principal eyed the hulking bear of a man dressed in a leather jacket with intricate braids in his beard. The half shaved head also factored into George’s wariness and confusion. This is not what he was expecting. This man was the guardian of the brightest pupil he had seen in his 25 years as a principal.

 

After several moments, Gustus’ deep gravely voice pierced the silence. “Why am I here?” The stick of a man was startled slightly out of his reverie.

 

The principle stuttered over his words. He was an impeccable leader to his faculty and students, but this man sent liquid fear through his body in waves. The principal cleared his throat to buy him just a second more to steel himself. He had nothing to fear. This was good news.

 

“Mr. Woods, your daughter is a genius.”

 

Gustus swallowed a laugh, but the braids in his beard shifted betraying the small smile that grew on his lips. “Mr. Attippo, with all due respect, this is not news to me. Or my wife or our eldest daughter. Or anyone, for that matter, who has taken the time to speak with Lexa.”

 

George allowed himself a moment to shake his head at his own stupidity. Of course. Everyone knew Lexa was a child-shaped adult. He matched Gustus’ clandestine smile. “I know. What I meant was we think she would be able to move into a higher grade level. Right now.”

 

With a soft breath in, he continues, “Lexa has a bright mind. She’s very advanced for her age. Eager for information. It’s so rare to see that kind of enthusiasm.” George Attipo, concerned principal and genuine human, worried what the man before him would think about the next words out of his own mouth. “But she’s a bit misunderstood by her peers. In addition to the tougher academics, we’re hoping that moving her to a more mature age group might quell some of the ostracizing by her classmates.”

 

Gustus pulled a stray thread off of his jeans. “Unless you are moving her to college, it is not going to work.” He said with finality and then rolled the thread into a ball with his fingertips and tossed it into the garbage can, eyes never leaving the principal. “But I’m sure Lexa will want the opportunity to try her hand at more advanced subject matter.”

 

Because if Gustus Woods was good at only two things it was knowing his children, really knowing them, and scaring the crap out of people with his presence.

 

And really that’s all any father of 2 daughters needs.

__

 

 **Lancaster** **, Pennsylvania**

**1 st through 5th grade**

**Conestoga** **Elementary School**

Gustus had been right. There was no getting around it. She’d been moved to 1st grade to be with a supposedly more mature group of children. But that was the problem, children weren’t mature.

 

Lexa was still an outcast. No one could seem to understand her. Their eyes would glaze over when she spoke. She was filled with facts about marine invertebrates, karate movies, and Greco-Roman Mythology. Most of the time Lexa was so busy expelling her knowledge so fervently that she didn’t noticed when her conversation partner walked away from her.

Lexa figured this was not a good way to fit in. So she tried to quell that part of her. She tried empathy. Tried to figure other ways to connect to her classmates. So she tried to use her big brain to spare them pain. She would look at the situation they found themselves in and see every possible outcome. She would try to gift them with the wisdom of their impending doom. Imparting lessons as they went. Teaching them.

 

And that didn’t fucking work either.

 

Things only got worse. Adults were turning on her too. They were the only age group Lexa could trust to understand her, but Indra and Gustus had heard the other mothers and fathers talking about her in whispered voices at PTO meetings. It only took one hard glare from Lexa’s intimidating guardians to shut the gossip mill up. The parents were only repeating the juvenile pseudonyms their children had given Lexa. The Awkward Squid. The Little Commander.

 

_Squids are not awkward. They are beautiful_

 

Her classmates weren’t exactly mean to her. Sometimes they would talk about her behind her back, but they mostly just avoided her. Like most people do with something they don’t understand. The way a typical human might pick up a Rubix Cube, turn it over a few times, and then think “nah better not” when it was clear they would never solve it. She was a riddle. To most people Lexa’s personality was insurmountable. Only the truly spirited stare at Mount Everest and climb it just because.

 

 

Piece by piece she pushed further into herself. Trying to remedy the loneliness.

 

 

_._

 

 

__

 

**The Playground**

**Spring of 5 th Grade, 1996**

**A purple tube slide**

“I said move, Lexa!” The walls curving completely around her, sheltering her from their pressing eyes and fervent whispers. She resolved to find a way to temper all of her less user-friendly qualities. Fortify her self. Not to keep things out. But to keep things in. To keep her oddities contained. Lexa was a genius after all. She could find a way to become a little more tolerable to the world. She stepped through the bright light at the end of the tunnel and put the last brick in the wall around her tiny heart.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Click here to TUMBLE](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/paintthebrain) with me.
> 
>   * Just say hi or hello or hola or any form of greeting
>   * Thank you so much for the support! You are so great. You make this so much fun!
> 



	7. Jake Griffin and the War on Time

 

 **Annapolis** **, MD**

**December 2003**

**The Griffin** **Residence**

 

 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He had been preparing for this her whole life. He stood at the door way, pressing his shoulder into the jamb and looked at her through concerned eyes the same color as hers. He hoped this moment would come a little later than this. 25 years later maybe. Or he would be ok with never. But boys have been asking her out since he can remember. So he finally caved. Clarke had strong sense of self. She was smart and trustworthy. It was time. “Boys will always be there, little bit. You can always wait for the next one.”

 

She shook out her blonde hair and delicately placed a red and green bow just above her ear on the left hand side. “Dad. I will be fine. It’s just a holiday dance.” She pulled the brush through the hair one last time and walked to him. She wrapped him up in the kind of hug that makes one feel enveloped in love and warmth. It was always amusing to Clarke to see her happy-go-lucky father trapped in a cycle of worry. “Everything will be ok.”

 

His little girl. His little bit of joy. Was going on her first date. And Jake hadn’t been this worried about her since she was rushed from the hospital room the moment she was born.

 

And that had all worked out better than he could have ever fathomed. She had grown into a beautiful person. A little too fast for his liking, but he couldn’t have asked for a better daughter.

 

A sigh gripped him and he allowed himself to relax. “That’s my line, Clarke.”

 

“What is?” She matched the sigh and collapsed into the embrace a little bit more. Turning her head to the left and relaxing her cheek into his chest.

 

“Everything will be ok.”

 

She chuckled, “Thanks, Dad.” And squeezed as hard as she could. “I love you, Papabear.”

 

“Love you, too, Little Bit. Forever, mmk?”

 

She leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Forever.” She pulled away quickly and looked into his familiar blue. She raised her finger to him and in mock seriousness she chastised him, “Please don’t scare him away.” And brought the finger to his cheek. “Again.” A slight smirk grew on her face as she slipped past him and hurried down the stairs.

 

 

“It was one time!” He called down after her. “How was I supposed to know he had Pteridophobia? Clarke! It wasn’t even a date.” He batted the fronds of the giant fern on the landing as he walked down the stairs. “Clarke, it wasn’t my fault.”

 

Clarke was still laughing when he met her at bottom of the stairs. The door bell rang. She put a finger to her lip to indicate quiet and lightly punched him in the arm before she opened the door. A handsome young man greeted them both politely.

 

A little while later, after the pictures had been taken and the door closed, Jake leaned back against the wall.

 

“Be strong.” He said. Not sure if the words were meant for Clarke.

 

 Or himself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Click here to TUMBLE](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/paintthebrain) with me.
> 
>   * Inspire a chapter, by sharing your own experiences, dates, disasters, crushes in the comments below or use the link above to leave an anonymous ask.
>   * Harry Potter style titles, pretty please? I got some on tumblr and I died. They were hilarious. Keep it up! It gives me joy. So so much.
>   * As always, I am completely overwhelmed by your support and kindness! Thanks for reading.
>   * Comments! Your feedback is highly valued so please don't stop!
>   * Fun Fact: Pteridophobia is a fear of ferns.
> 



	8. Lexa Woods and the Dusty Tool Shed of Self-Discovery

 

 

 

**Suburban Philadelphia**

**Summer before 10 th grade, 2000**

**A church parking lot in her neighborhood**

 

“Sure, Lexa. But let’s change up the rules a little bit.” Roan said agreeing to Lexa’s idea to play hide and seek. He dismissed it at first, declaring it childish, but a devilish glint grew in his eyes just before he gave his consent. He gave her a knowing look and threw her a flirty grin. “We have to pick partners.”

 

Lexa did not like it when the rules changed. Rules where how she lived her life. Rules were how she figured out how to be someone people wanted to interact with. She collected observations. Tiny nuggets of wisdom. Axioms that would grant her an easier way of existing. And with those she made very specific rules for interaction.

 

It was because of this method that she knew that when someone looks at you the way that Roan was looking at her, she could elicit the best response from him if she glanced down and away, then slowly return her gaze back to him while allowing a shy smile to affect her lips. His cocky grin expanded causing the dimple in his chin to shallow. “Fine.” She said, “but I get to pick first.”

 

Her group gathered here every day after school since Lexa moved here at the end of 7th grade. Every day. Every season. It was always the same. Games of tag or football. Hide and seek. Sometimes they would head over to someone’s house to play video games. And Lexa was grateful for her efficient frontal lobe and its ability to help her figure out social interaction. But the move had definitely helped as well. She left behind her childish monikers and created a new identity. To everyone else, her obscure interests fanned out into more practical ones and she was able to translate her wisdom into effective leadership. By the time high school started, she was well-respected and looked to as a genius problem-solver by peers and faculty. It also didn’t hurt that as she grew she lost her gangly, awkward appearance. Now, her sharp, unique features gave off an air of majesty, like royalty – unattainable, dignified, and beautiful. But she knew the main reason she kept people in her life was because of the rules. The code of conduct she swore herself to. It kept all of her oddities inward and mystery projected outward. Always on manual never on autopilot.

 

 

Roan chuckled and stepped forward. “Take your pick,” he said as he gestured down the length of his body. He was fit and athletic, but bold and brash and liable to make choices without thinking. Lexa liked to win. She scanned the rest of her group of friends. There was Lillian with her lithe body and sun-kissed hair. The thought of being huddled together in a close space with her caused the breath to rush out of Lexa’s lungs momentarily. _No, that will not do._ Next there was Serra, Ryder, Kira, and Nyko. Nyko and Ryder were strong, but bulky and cumbersome. Serra and Kira were viable options, but her eyes landed on Artigas. He was fast, very fast. His small frame made him easily concealable. The choice was obvious to Lexa’s pragmatic brain. She pointed to Art. “Him.”

 

There was slight air of disappointment in Roan’s voice when he revealed the last part of the rule. “You have to make out with your partner until you are found.”

 

Lexa dropped her eyes to the ground. Trying to make sense of the patterns in the concrete. She’d never really been close with Artigas to begin with. They had their moments though. It was a practical strategy really. _I should have picked Lillian._ Her stomach lurched. She pushed all this to the side and pulled Artigas toward her. “Come on, Art. Nyko and Serra you count first.” _At least we can still win this._

 

**Suburban Philadelphia**

**15 minutes later**

**A dusty tool shed at the edge of the church property**

“ I am not sure, Art,” she said to the boy crouched behind her while she peeked through a crack in the door. “I guess no. I do not think boys are gross.”

 

Artigas had tried. Really tried to get Lexa to kiss him, but he had failed. He slumped onto the ply-wood wall and admitted defeat. Slightly more snarky than he intended, he had asked her if she thought boys were gross. Lexa had been quiet for a moment before giving him the reply. He did not respond. Instead he fiddled with a saw hanging from a peg. What little light there was bounced off it and bended on to the wall as he turned it side to side in his fingers. Lexa turned her head from the crack in the door and finished her thought. “I don’t really think about boys at all.”

 

That seemed to spark something in her partner because his fingers slipped in their motion and the saw bounced back into the wall leaving a sharp metallic sound reverberating through the small grimy space. She moved quickly to silence the object. Smashing it against the wood to stop the vibrations. “Shhh. They’ll find us,” she said through gritted teeth.

 

Artigas chortled as he shifted his weight and collapsed completely onto the dirt covered floor, crossing his legs beneath him. “Lexa…they’re not coming…well some of them might be. But not for us.”

 

Lexa whipped her eyes to him. The realization hit her. The rules had changed without her even noticing. They weren’t just kids hanging out and playing games anymore. They were teenagers with libidos. She matched Artigas’ position on the floor. They sat in silence while Lexa went back through her memories, trying to reorganize her knowledge into this new confusing rubric.

 

She was supposed to want this. She was supposed to want Artigas. He was attractive enough. Creative and smart. Athletic in different ways from Roan, but she didn’t feel that way about either of them. Lillian was a different story. And if she was being honest, Lillian wasn’t the first girl to make her stomach drop down in very specific ways.

 

Lexa filed everything. Trying to fit herself into the rules the world had made around her. She’d already given up her true self, knowing no one was equipped to understand the unabated version of herself. But this. She didn’t think this was something she could think her way out of. She clenched her jaw. The sound of Artigas moving his position snapped Lexa out of her momentary trance. She looked to him. His eyes were buried into the earthen floor and his brows were deeply furrowed.

 

“I do.” He looked up and met her gaze with caution in his eyes. The silence enveloped them as he appeared to gather the strength to continue. “I think about boys.”

 

Without a thought to her unspoken code of conduct, she moved quickly to him and put her arm around his shoulder.

 

She tightened her embrace as she asked him, “How long have you known?” He relaxed into the touch and she pressed a soft kiss into his temple.

 

“Always.”

 

She pulled him up to look directly at her. “Artigas…” Her look was serious, but her tone playful. “Why would you do that? Boys are gross.” She let a smile rip across her face and in seconds they are both collapsed into each other shaking with silent laughter. She pulled away for a moment and after several sharp inhales she managed to confide her own epiphany. “I think about girls the way you think about boys. All ways.” And they collapsed into each other once more.

 

As their quiet laughter disolved, the truth held heavy in the air, floating listlessly above them because the weight of that truth had finally been removed from their own shoulders. She felt her autopilot switch on. Her true self shining through momentarily. That hadn’t happened in front of someone other than her sister in years. “I think we are what the French call Le Gay.”

 

Artigas snorted. “Oui! Oui! I like the peepee!” He said in his worst French accent.

 

If Roan and the others had actually been looking for them and not off unabashedly making out with their respective partners somewhere, they would have heard the first true laugh Lexa had gifted anyone with in years. It was loud and it easily penetrated the thin ply-wood walls of the shed. Her face was flush and her eyes were glistening with tears of laughter. The tools along the wall vibrated just a little bit with the cacophony.

 

She sat their with Artigas for a little while longer. Pondering the world’s unspoken rule for their sexuality. She knew she needed the rules. She needed _her_ rules for procedure and etiquette. She needed a black and white way of responding to a grey world. But in that silent moment of camaraderie with Artigas and their new found understanding of self, Lexa thought that maybe….just maybe… some rules were meant to be broken.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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  * Inspire a chapter, by sharing your own experiences, dates, disasters, crushes in the comments below or use the link above to leave an anonymous ask.
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	9. Octavia Blake and the Trouble with Floorboards

 

 

**Johns Hopkins University**

**Move in Day, Late August, 2006**

**Lafayette Dormitory**  


She took in the slightly water-stained walls and the aging hard wood floor. The high ceilings crowned her with chipping paint and patina. She stood there with her rucksack dangling precariously on her shoulder, an excessively large suit case standing like a sentinel behind her, door flung wide open. She was seriously regretting not taking the newly renovated dorms across campus, but she saw the historically accurate building online and liked the character and story behind it.

 

She was accustomed to derelict. She and her brother Bellamy had just given up a tiny broken down apartment on the Southside of Philly which they’d lived in since their mother died. And the house they had lived in with her was just as broken-down. The product of Bellamy not being able to keep up with repairs and the demands that came with caring for a sick mother and young sister. Octavia preferred to remain upstairs in her own room and own world. Praising the floor for being a barrier that separated her from her problems downstairs. Hospital bed. Tubes and Machine. Wandering Nurses. Yes, her dorm was definitely an upgrade.

 

She flung her duffle bag down onto the unoccupied bed and was surprised to find that the mattress was robust and firm. At least that’s new, though she suspected the rest of the building hadn’t been renovated since the Civil War.

 

She began to empty the contents of her suitcase and bag. Moving through the room as the floorboards creaked and groaned beneath her. The room filled up with pictures, archaeological artifacts, arrow heads, other knickknacks, and color. It was very her. There was one item left that needed a home. It was a stuffed giraffe Bellamy had won her at a carnival.

 

She scanned her handiwork and realized there was very little space left to put anything else. The light filtering through the window illuminated the wide sill. She moved to place it there, but hit an uneven slat in the floor and tripped. She thrust her free foot down to steady herself and there was a loud splintering as 2 of the floorboard disintegrated and crumbled with the impact.

 

She let out a slew of swear words as she took in the sight of her foot buried in the ancient floor. She paused for a moment, trying to fully comprehend her situation. Silently cursing them for their betrayal. “Pfft. Character.” She huffed out a quick breath as she threw the giraffe back on to the bed and tried to pry herself out. She tried for a good 3 minutes, but the harder she worked the more wedged in her foot seem to become. She sighed and dropped to the floor. The door was open, but the hallway seemed quiet. Her phone lay just out of reach on the bed.

 

Octavia stared at the door, willing anybody to come to her rescue. A few minutes later a flash of blonde and blue surged past the opening.

 

“Hey! Hey you! Blondie! Hey!”

 

The blonde hair returned and peeked around the edge of the door frame. “Me?”

 

“Yea, I can’t get out.” She gestured to her predicatment. “Any suggestions?”

The blonde stepped forward into the room. She swept her golden locks to one side of her shoulders as she stooped to inspect the problem. The blonde looked up at the brunette inquisitively. “May I?” Putting a hand toward the stranded girl’s ankle.

 

“Knock your self out,” she replies.

 

“Okay. Let me know if I hurt you.” The blonde proceeded to wiggle and pull. Push and lift. Nothing happened except some groans and whines from the brunette and some splintering and cracking from the wood. “We should probably get some help.”

 

She stands and moves to the door. “Wait right here. I know just the person.”

 

Octavia allowed a small smile to reach her lips for the first time since the predicament began. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

 

The blonde looked back and laughed, “I’ll be right back.”

 

She was gone for longer than Octavia expected. “Hello?”

 

“Bloooondie? What’s taking so long?”

 

The blonde rushed over the threshold carry a small bag of supplies with a beautiful dark-haired girl limping behind her.

 

“Oh.” Octavia says.

 

“This is Raven.” Clarke revealed with a little smile.

 

“Yea, I’m not quite as mobile as Clarke.”

 

“Neither am I at the moment. Octavia. Sorry for the hurryup. Do you think you can help?”

 

“Yea, but I’m not sure you’ll like the end result.” Raven admitted with a twinkle in her eye.

 

Clarke moved towards Raven and in a near whisper said, “Raven, you can’t blow up her foot.”

 

“Not my intention.” She set a lazy smirk across her lips, “But I will have to do a little more damage. Can you stand up?” Octavia stood while the dark-haired girl sunk to her knees. The sight made Octavia’s breath hitch. Just a bit.

 

With some difficulty, Raven got into a sitting position on the floor and proceeded to lay several knocks across the slats. She stopped when she hear a hollow thunk about 10 inches behind Octavia’s foot.

 

“Hammer, Clarke.” The blonde shuffles in the bag shr brought and hands a rather unsavory looking large ball peen hammer to Raven.

 

Raven looked into the eyes of the puzzled brunette and saw fear. “Don’t worry, Octavia. This isn’t for you.”

 

With a loud crunch, another hole was made just behind Octavia’s foot. “What the Fuck, Raven?”

 

“What? I can’t be sure I won’t hurt you if I try and pull the boards apart. You’ll just have to trust me.” And with that she lowered her self facedown and put her entire arm into the hole. “Clarke, grab her to keep her stable. Octavia, I’m going to grab your foot from behind, straighten it out and push it through. You guys pull at the same time. Ready?’

**Johns Hopkins University**

**9 minutes later**

**Lafayette Dormitory**

 

Octavia reclined on her bed, head resting on the wall with her new found friends relaxing on either side of her. She absentmindedly rubbed her ankle as Clarke answered the question the brunette asked moments before.

 

“Raven and I? We met in high school. Been annoying each other ever since.” Raven reached over Octavia and hit Clarke with a wayward pillow. Clarke let out a laugh. “Don’t let that fool you. She just transferred here to be with me.”

 

Raven makes a move to further punish her best friend for her insolence, but before she can Clarke puts her hand up and says, “What about you Octavia? What’s your story?”

 

Raven mumbles a nearly inaudible insult at the blonde and returns to her original postion on the bed while Octavia let’s the question sink in.

 

“It’s a great program. Close to my brother who is right down the road at University of Baltimore. Both of us on scholarship. Plus, they let freshman dig in the dirt.”

 

Clarke and Raven instinctively raise their heads off the wall to share a confused look. Octavia smiles and glances between the two. “Archeaology. My Major is archaeology and Anthropology.” Both girls allow their twisted expressions to fade into ear to ear grins. “Female Indiana Jones would be a fantasy come true.”

 

Raven snorted, ““For you and me both.”

 

Octavia looks at her with puzzlement. And this time Clarke is the one to sling the pillow. “What? She would look really good with a whip.” And she continues her laugh. “Just sayin.”

 

“Aaanyway…” Clarke changes the topic, but with a bemused smirk still on her face. “I’m pre-med and Raven is…” Before Clarke can finish that statement Raven wraps a hard knuckle on her brace leaving the area between them filled with a soft metallic twanging.

 

“Biomechanical Engineer.” Raven says with clarity as if it couldn’t be anymore obvious why she chose that major. When that doesn’t elicit the anticipated response from Octavia, Raven continues, “I want to find new ways of looking at handicaps and to solve each story individually. You know find the code that fixes the limb.” Looked at Octavia. Nothing.

 

Raven sighs. She used to this level of bewilderment. “I want to make prothestetics that are barely distinguishable from human limbs. And I want to make software and hardware for intact limbs that lack function based on their individual nervous system.” She says exasperatedly when Octavia still quite hasn’t softened her baffled expression. One more try. “Their limbs. Gone or broken. Me fix them.” Raven says in her best caveman voice.

 

Something must have clicked because Octavia allowed a glint to reach her eyes. “You turn people into unique snowflake cyborgs.” And then a full cocky smile exhumes her mouth.

 

Clarke could stop the laughter that fell out of her body. And once Raven was able to let go of her pride she joins her.

 

As the laughter dies down, Octavia stands and peers into the hole that she created. “What am I going to do about this?”

 

“I’m sure the maintence men will be back tomorrow. They’ll take care of it,” Clarke says hopefully, sitting up fully. “In the meantime, just put that chair over it.”

 

Octavia moves to comply, but just as she does she catches a silvery reflection in the darkness of the orignal breach. “What the?” She grabs her phone off the bed and turns on the flashlight app and thrusts it through the opening Raven had made. “Holy shit!”

 

Before the other two girls can shift to the floor beside her, Octavia has already thrust her arm shoulder deep, mirroring Raven’s action from before. In one motion, she stands and holds the reason for her exclamation high above. It’s a sword.

 

She looks like a warrior goddess, mouth open in a silent battle cry.

 

Raven can hardly contain her lust. Clarke allows a nervous laugh to consume her. And pretty soon they’re all back on the bed chatting about famous fighting woman. The sword earning its rightful place on the window sill next to Bellamy’s Giraffe.

 

They remain like this until well into the evening enjoying the comfort and ease that had settled between them all.

 

And picking up again the next morning. And again the day after that.

 

Octavia always thought floorboards were just a barrier between upstairs and downstairs. Something to shield her from her troubles. Keep her from falling through. But now she saw them as the things that brought to her best friends. And a really fucking awesome sword.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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[Click here to TUMBLE](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/paintthebrain) with me.

  * Hi! Thanks for reading.
  * Behind the Scenes: I wasn’t sure if I wanted to call this OB and the Floorboards of Destiny. or the current title. I ultimately decided on the Trouble with Floorboards because canon Octavia had a lot of trouble with floorboards. And I just thought that little poke at canon was hilarious.

  * Fun Fact: I'm super detail-oriented so 90 % of the story is in subtle little nuggets that connect with each other. Please let me know if you see them.

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	10. Clarke Griffin and the Ah-Ha Moment

**Echo Cliff Residential Summer Camp**

**Summer 2007**

**A platform tent in the woods**

 She liked boys. She’d always liked boys. Lord knows she had gone on plenty of dates with them in her 3 years as a figurative fish in the sea. Kissing them. Wanting them. And it had always felt right on target. Number 1 with a bullet. But now Clarke found herself staring down the barrel of a whole new kind of gun. _Her_ name was Lucy Elizabeth Strath. She was very beautiful, very smart, and very British. Clarke was a goner. It happened the moment the red head lifted Clarke’s fingers to her mouth and sucked. _Bang! I’m dead._

 It started innocent enough. They were bunk mates and co-counselors. Then friends. Then best friends that confided everything with each other. The late night talk sessions turned into tickles fights. Tickle fights dissolved into wrestling matches, blowing raspberries into each other’s necks and stomachs. And those playful little wars usually ended up with one straddling the other with arms pinned to the wooden floor. And now Lucy, hovering over, having won the wrestling match, had taken the next logical step.

 Clarke loses herself in all the moments leading up to this one. She pulls away from Lucy, moves to her cot, and tries to catch her breath. She remembers the moment they met. She remembers what Lucy was wearing the moment they met. She knows her scent. Her schedule at camp. Knows that she lives in Bath, England and has one sister. She knows that when she sleeps she crosses her legs at the ankle and puts one hand on Clarke’s hip. About 2 weeks ago they had pushed their cots together because that’s what really good friends do. Clarke knows that, during their raspberry wars, in the very first moment Lucy presses her mouth to Clarke’s neck, the moment before the raspberry starts, Lucy makes a sound. A sound like a moan. And that makes Clarke’s core tighten and rise.

 But Clarke doesn’t know why she knows all this.

  

**The Griffin Residence**

**1999**

**Clarke’s Bedroom**

 “Clarke, it’s time for homework.”

 “In a minute, Mom.” She huffs out breathless.

 She turns the TV down and watches Britney do her dance. Watches her attractive female back up dancer grind into her. Hit Me, Baby One More Time lilts out from the speakers and Clarke can’t stop watching the fluidity of their hips And the melting of their curves into each other with each movement. She thinks that Britney is so pretty and so talented and she wants to be just like her. Or the back up dancer.

 

 **Annapolis** **Area High School**

**November 2003 Junior Year**

**The Gym**

 Loud squeaks and squeals could be heard all around. Rubber soles searching for friction on the gym floor. Clarke was on the last leg of her suicide sprint. She hurled herself over the base line and then raised her arms to rest on her head, giving her diaphragm the room it needed to expand and contract. As the rest of her teammates were finishing the workout, Clarke looked over to the sideline just as an unknown girl was walking up to the coach. They exchanged words. Coach nodded and guided the girl over to where the rest of the group was heaving.

 “Ladies, this is Mary Lavier. She just transferred from Prince George’s Academy. She should fit in nicely here. All-american team sophomore and Junior years. She’s a point guard so, Clarke, You’ll be guarding her.”

 Clarke looked her up and down. _She’s pretty, but no way is she taking my spot. I worked hard for it._ But as she scrutinized her competition, she began to feel an odd sensation. _I must have pushed myself a little too hard on that last drill._

After a water break Clarke found herself in a heated scrimmage with her teammates and Mary. Both girls trying to prove themselves for the single coveted starting position.

 They were so close. Pushing and pulling on each other as they struggled for the ball. Clarke was red in the face and blushing all over. She chalked it up to the exertion. But when Mary would try to pull away, Clarke found herself unintentionally closing the distance. Subconsciously pushing her body flush with Mary’s.

 The girls went on to become good friends, but Clarke never did manage to get the tinge out of her cheeks whenever Mary was in close proximity.

  

**Still a Tent in the Woods**

**Summer 2007  
**

**Clarke’s Cot**

Lucy was staring at her having moved to the bed as well. Wide bluegreen eyes. Waiting for Clarke to figured it out. Waiting for Clarke to put all the context clues in order. Waiting while Clarke went back through every moment like this one and put it all together.

 She didn’t just like Britney she _liked_ her.

 It wasn’t just the exercise and competition that put the blush in her cheeks, she was attracted to Mary.

 These pieces finally connected themselves and it hit Clarke right in her wet core. There was a beautiful woman in front of her. And Clarke wanted her.

 “Oh” Clarke says with the revelation and then after a beat she closes the space between them.

 There’s was a quiet sliding of skin on skin. Lips searching for friction against the softness of the other’s. As they fell backwards onto the cot, the springs creaked with the new weight.

 

Then came an audible gasp from both as Clarke pushed her hips down into her new revelation.

 

 

 

 

   _Bang! I’m dead._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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  * Inspire a chapter, by sharing your own experiences, dates, disasters, crushes in the comments below or use the link above to leave an anonymous ask.
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	11. Lexa Woods and the Oral Acclivity

 

**New York City**

**May 1st, 2007 7:44pm**

**A sidewalk outside the Waldorf Astoria**

Lexa Woods is a damn good orator. She can make anyone fall prey to her intricately designed arguments. Of course she can because Lexa is nothing if not over analytical of every word out of her mouth. There is nothing to worry about. This is nothing.

 Lexa barely registers the caustic thrum of an engine and a door slamming. Her sister’s voice barely cutting through her thoughts. “Lexa?” Anya catches Lexa’s steely gaze and knows right away that her sister is trying desperately to tighten herself into a neat and easily digestible character. A mask slipping into place. “Oh, hello there, Commander.”

 The first time Anya used that previously condescending moniker back in high school Lexa had visibly cringed. It was after a particularly heady debate tournament and after several rebuttals and a flawless reasoning, Lexa trounced the competition. Dismantling their argument completely. But her sister had settled Lexa’s balking quickly with a shrug, a smile, and “Your presence is commanding, baby sis. Might as well embrace it.”

 And so she did. She wasn’t just a leader. She was _the_ leader. The person everyone looked to solve their problems. It was almost a relief to have a name to put to the façade she created all those years ago. And just as with everything she cultivated this to perfection. SO perfect in fact that she found herself being honored as a future leader of America.

 Anya leaned in to embrace her sister. “Where’s ma and pa?

 “Already upstairs” Lexa says as she raises her chin and swallows distinctly.

 A soft reassuring hand winds its way into Lexa’s. “You got this, baby sis.”

 Lexa allowed herself a small smile. Yea. She was born for this.

 

**Waldorf Astoria**

**May 1st, 2007 7:49pm**

**The Elevator**

 The bell dings signaling the doors opening. Lexa steps through with confidence. Completely immersed in the nuances of the powerful, collected Commander. This is nothing. Anya pulls out her phone and checks her messages. “Oooo we’re at a table in the front. How’s it feel to be leading the future? Do we live in spaceships?”

 The doors begin to shut as Lexa chuckles. “It feels..”

A slender arm snakes its way through the narrowing opening stopping Lexa’s comment before she can finish. Lexa steps forward to press the open button. In walks a woman wrapped in blue, a few grey hairs pepper her shiny brown mane. She carries herself with an air of perfection and majesty. Lexa notes the sense of dignity with which she appears to approach the world. When they lock eyes, Lexa registers a flinching eyebrow from the woman, but then the older woman smiles softly and offers a subtle, barely audible congratulations. Lexa returns her smile then thinks nothing else of that curious twitch.

 Lexa decides that if she can carry herself in half the way that woman does she can change the world.

 “It feels inevitable, yet irresolvable.” She pauses then turns back to face Anya and finishes the answer. “It feels like infinity.”

  

**Waldorf Astoria**

**7:54 pm**

**Grand Ballroom**

 The room resounds with the heated buzz of everyone talking at once. The clinking of highball glasses and fancy wine goblets. The air is cool and smells vaguely of money and business. Jaws flown open. Singing praises. Everyone is here to celebrate the 3 brightest young minds in America. The future leaders. Lexa had been chosen from all the graduating seniors at seven hundred colleges across the country. And now Lexa is standing in the same room as some of the most influential people in business and richest investors in the nation.

 Lexa pushes forward through the throng, Anya at her side. _This is nothing_ she reminds herself as she catches sight of a fellow honoree already wooing potential investors. Lexa knows this is an opportunity of a lifetime. All the things she has given of herself are made worthy by this moment. Victory stands on the back of sacrifice. She knew that the Commander could get what Lexa wants. A better life for her people.

 

There are tables scattered across the ballroom. All with the same regal cream-colored linens to match the crowning chiffon. She is met by her people. Indra rushes forward and hugs her with a reverent and illusive smile. Gustus puts a strong hand on her shoulder. Anya greets her parents as well. Art steps to her and makes a preposterous face of disgust. “Ugh. How dare you be smart and beautiful.” He softens the harsh glare into a comforting smile. “Nice dress. You look like a land mermaid.” It was a shimmering green to compliment her eyes. Floor length and tight, but not obscene.

 Lexa gives the Commander this moment off as she takes a private instant to greet him as the Lexa he loves. She wraps him tightly in a hug and playfully whispers into his ear. “Thanks, dumdum.” She pulls back and meets his eyes before looking on either side of him. “Where’s Miller?” Artigas’ boyfriend Nathan was perfect for him. They all went to college together. And it stuck. Lexa had met a few girls. But she had a strict policy of no distractions. Well, maybe a few. But nothing long term.

He gave her arm a quick squeeze, “he couldn’t make it, but he sent a big fat congratulations and his sister to take his seat. She isn’t here yet since it was so last minute, but don’t worry. Your table will be full of beautiful people.”

  

**Grand Ballroom**

**9:18pm**

**A table at the front**

 Dessert is being served. Both of the other recipients have already given their acceptance speeches between the other dinner courses. And just as Lexa had suspected they had made some sort of subtle pitch for their next step. Covertly seeking financial backing from the wealthy room.

 Nathan’s sister had finally joined them. And Art was right. The table was filled with beautiful people. Her especially. She sat beside Art now, her head turned to him with a cheerful smile and a forkful of tiramisu. She shared some of Nate’s features – dark, cool eyes, bronze skin, and an easy air about her. Lexa has yet to speak with her beyond casual introductions. The moment they met had been the first time Lexa had felt truly nervous all night. Lexa had chosen to ignore her after that. Because right now is not a good time for distractions.

 The Master of Ceremonies approached the podium and a chorus of silverware being set down on porcelain rose up throughout the ballroom.

 “Ladies and gentlemen, when this profile came to the selection committee it was a no brainer. This beautiful intelligent woman is a volunteer with at-risk children and the top of her class at Harvard. Majoring in pre-law and social work, she will be attending Colombia Law School in the fall. She was born into foster system. Unwanted and has fought her way to the top. I present to you Lexa Woods.”

 Lexa hated when people brought up the fact that she was adopted as something to overcome. It meant nothing to her. She never even really thought about it anymore. But she knew other people did. She knew that other people elevated her now that she had elevated herself, because wow how could anyone overcome anything so vile as being unwanted. Lexa had done it twice. And it was just a part of her. But she knew the weight that it carried for other people. And she was going to use it to her advantage.

 It is risky. But. Lexa is a damn good orator. This is nothing.

 Lexa moves with the grace of a panther going in for the kill as she walks up the stairs to the podium. The speeches that had come from her fellow honorees had been filled with the promises of a better tomorrow. But if she was going to get the amount of funding she needed to get her organization off the ground she had to be the best. She had spent years perfecting her oral capabilities. This night could end only one way. In victory.

 She paused. Took a breath. Waiting for silence to permeate the room. “Thank you for that introduction.” A purposeful smile spreads across her lips, designed to draw in anyone who might have grown tired of the speeches. “Yes, I was adopted. But I do not wish to be elevated for something that is just one singular part of me. It is just another part of my journey. It implies that I was given less in this world. My story is different from yours, but not less. I come from the ground. Buried underneath mounds and mounds of dirt and grime and a heady fight for each step I take. But this is not about my story.”

“I could tell you a story about a girl. Born in to a family unprepared to care for her. A family of two. And by the age of 3 she was stronger than her mother. She was ripped away from her and pressed into foster home after foster home. She, my sister, slipped through the cracks more times than anyone could count. At best she got a heartfelt apology from those who could not maintain her wild, head-strong ways. She had no control over her life. And all anyone offered was to wish they could help her. The amount of change she endured. The rejection. The fear she felt. Does it evoke pity? Does it make you feel sorry for her? Don’t. This is not about her story either.” Lexa scanned the crowd, her eyes falling softly on Anya. Anya her strength, resplendent in red.

 “This is about _our_ story. The lines we all recite. The roles that we play. How we are governed by simple scripted dialogue that we are compelled to perpetuate for no reason except that is the way it has always been. I am talking about our culture of worthless apologies. We all have that moment when we realize someone’s strife. And we feel sorry for them. But that is the only action we take. We stand quietly in the shadows and hand out pity for something we have no fault in. Or we apologize for something that is our fault, but do little else. Society tells us that this is a more than appropriate response. To feel but not act.”

 Her voice is made for public speaking. Soft and lilting like jazz. A dichotomous capacity to both strum softly and resound fiercely. A timbre unlike any other. “ This room is filled with powerful leaders. And every one of us has had a moment when we felt inadequate. When we felt like less. Society tells us that we are pitiful when we are weak. To feel sorry when we’ve been pressed down into the dirt. But I guarantee not one of you felt sorry for yourself. You just picked yourselves up and pressed on. So why can we not teach that action to others? Why is this ability reserved for the few lucky enough to be born with an innate sense of self-worth or into a family that teaches it? What if “I’m sorry” was not a frivolous phrase we throw around to someone with less than us? To someone experiencing adversity? Someone we wronged? What if we choose to wrap around others not just to comfort them, but to lift them up?”

 “I’m sorry.” Her tone is quiet like the eye of a storm. “It is a phrase meant to imply change. When these words are uttered, we are supposed to mean that a mistake was made and I will do everything in my power not to make that mistake again. It is a phrase meant to imply change. But now it is so completely diluted that we are drowning in inaction.” The volume in her voice growing with each passing second.

“There are other symptoms besides inaction that prove the meaninglessness of a once important, steadfast phrase. And they are denial and pity.” The room is stunted. All eyes fixed on Lexa. “We deny others the work it would take to right wrongs. We pity those less fortunate than us. Pity is a coward’s version of compassion. Feeling sorry is a lazy response. We can combat denial, pity, and inaction. With wisdom, compassion, and strength.”

 “Some of us come in to this world with a shadow over us. A darkness based on the family we are born in to. A metaphorical night determined by our blood. Children that come from families of abuse and neglect affect me greatly. Do I pity them? No. I feel compassion. And that compels me to be present for them. Do I feel sorry for them? No. I will not subscribe to that kind of false humanity. Because what I feel goes beyond that. I feel strong enough to allow myself to be effected by their pain. And it motivates me to take action.”

 “I want to see an organization designed to teach the importance of strength of self to youth. I want a place where children gain true wisdom by understanding their emotions” The audience is holding their collective breaths as Lexa’s voice turns into a roaring storm. Firey and resolute. An army of words going to war for her cause. “When they feel something they should learn to what do with that feeling. If it is anger, they should channel it, not bury it. If it is compassion, should they not act? Our next generation should choose their dialogue. They should be present and active in the world. We will not spout lines at each other pressing for a predictable out come. We should be pushing toward the more difficult goal.”

“Yes, I come from the ground. But I took root and I grew. And so can others. Every person deserves a chance. Everyone deserves more than pity, denial, or inaction. My sister’s story and mine should not be the exception. It should be the rule. Do not feel sorry for us. Our parents, Gustus and Indra, never did. Instead they poured themselves into every moment with us. Teaching us when to fight and when to find another way – wisdom. Showing us that true strength comes from taking the time to listen to and understand someone else’s story however difficult it maybe to hear. Remember that it takes strength to tell a story other’s might not want to hear.” Lexa threw a furtive glance at Artigas remembering their confessions to each other. He immediately caught it and mouthed ‘oui oui’ at her. She softened into a smile before she continued. “Because one day you will realize how much opportunity you have passed up by not being wise, compassionate, and emotionally strong. Then and only then will you truly understand what is means to be sorry.”

 She pauses and sighs. Allowing that space to fill up the room. “ _Our_ stories make us different, not less. But if we combined them we could be so much more.” She knows she has done it. She feels the victory wash over her as she sets the final words loose.

 

 “Wisdom. Compassion. Strength. This will be our legacy. This will be our infinity.” A swell of applause resounds as well as the screeching of chairs across the floor as everyone stands in celebration of Lexa’s vision and her excellent oral skills. The master of ceremonies continues clapping as he approaches the podium. One last thought hits her and she feels compelled to improvise. This is nothing.

 

 

 “I’m sorry should not mean just something. It should mean everything.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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[Click here to TUMBLE](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/paintthebrain) with me.

  * Behind the scenes: I rewrote this chapter about 38 times because there are some important call backs/ connections in later chapters.
  * Special thanks goes to my schrodingerkitty for reading this before hand and being a special little cinnamon roll made of sunshine and smarts.
  * Hey folks, it’s still quite a while to Clexa, but hang in there. How about we play a game? Let’s play ‘Spot the Little Nuggets of Canon’. How many did you see in this chapter? There was quite a few. Leave a guess in the comments.



 


	12. Raven Reyes and the Broom Closet of Brooms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome, friends. I hope you are doing ok. And I hope this puts a smile on your face.

 

 **Johns** **Hopkins University**

**Junior year September 2007**

**Welcome Back Block party**

“Look at that fucking fox, Griffin. Tell me you don’t want him in your hole,” she said to her roommate, but the blonde wasn’t paying attention. She was writing an extensive email to somebody on her phone. The same somebody that has been distracting her friend from their favorite pastime of checking out the new meat since the beginning of term 2 weeks ago. Lucy.

Her favorite blonde had acted suspicious from the moment she got back from break, disappearing in to the stairwell to make a private phone call and not returning for two hours. The typically ravenous pre-med student would skip meals to Skype with her new BFF from England that she met at summer camp. Raven suspected what had happened, but it was only confirmed when Clarke was pretty obvious about not wanting to participate in their usual pastime of checking out the incoming class at the start of year block party.

Students flowed between booths and attractions and all the while the blonde kept her head down. Raven knew better than to confront her friend about this just yet. She needed a little bit more time.

Raven had a sixth sense when it came to Clarke. 5 years of late nights, break ups, dilemmas, and triumphs had given Raven a divine understanding of the blonde. Clarke was all heart until it came to _matters_ of the heart. And now Raven was sure that Clarke had finally discovered this other part of herself. The one that she had always been oblivious to, but Raven had figured out within weeks of knowing her.

It didn’t surprise Raven that it took this long for Clarke to figure out her sexuality. Clarke had little need for an exploration of self. She could glean all the information she needed to be successful from the environment and the reaction of others. Clarke operated on instinct and gut reaction and most of the time she came out largely unscathed. But sometimes there was something deeper at play and it took Clarke an inordinate amount of time to figure out how to express it.

Raven knew not to push her best friend about this deeper something. Because if Clarke was confronted about feelings she wasn't ready to express, then Raven would be on the receiving end of what she affectionately referred to as Passion Fruit Punch - a tidal wave of all possible emotions and words about the subject in question spewing to the surface and struggling to be expressed at once. Raven did, however, drop the occasional hint over the last 2 weeks. As she did now. “How’s your friend?”

Clarke finally looked up from her phone with the remnants of a goofy smile, “What?”

Raven just rolled her eyes. “Tell her I said hi.”

Clarke was already bent over her phone again. The goofy smile fully returned. “Yeah, Ok.” They continued their stroll until they ran out of booths and Raven just gave up and suggested they head back to the dorms. Clarke nodded. Raven would have to wait just a little bit longer.

 

 **Lafayette** **Dormitory**

**3 days later**

**Their room**

 It actually came sooner than Raven thought it would. Clarke patted the blue comforter beside her and urged Raven to sit down on the bed.” I have something I want to tell you.” Raven’s heart filled with glee. _This is it,_ she thought.

“I’ve always had this place inside me.” Clarke said with uncharacteristic trepidation. She folded her hands into her lap and stared at them blankly

Raven allowed a tiny knowing smirk to possess her lips. “Like a closet?”

Clarke whipped a look at her friend. “What made you say that?’

“Nothing. Continue.” Raven said with feigned innocence.

“And this place has a very specific purpose.”

“A broom closet.”

“And the purpose has always been filled by the same things.” Clarke sighed.

“A broom closet full of brooms.”

Clarke twisted her face. “Raven!” This wasn’t easy and raven knew she was making it more difficult with her cryptic metaphors, but she just couldn’t’ help herself. “I’m trying to tell you something very important,” she husked out, defeated, losing the confidence she had a moment ago and to be honest very distracted by Raven’s weird ass associations to her confession.

“Yep, I know. But you already told me ages ago when you checked me out. And when you drooled over that girl during Chem class. Like seriously, drooled. I could’ve filled an entire graduated cylinder with your saliva.” Raven pulls back when Clarke raises a hand to punch her in the arm, but pushes back into her space. With a soft smile she says, “You’ve finally figured out that your broom closet is full of brooms...and mops.”

Raven beams at her with unadulterated mirth, but Clarke’s furrowed brow pulls her own smile down a bit.

The brunette moves in close and props an arm around her best friend’s shoulder. “Clarke, I get it. You’re bi. You don’t have to make some big sweeping statement.”

And now Raven can’t breathe because she is laughing so hard at her own joke. She knows she should comfort her friend, but when she looks to Clarke, she sees a mixture between a pout and smile on the blonde’s face and she doubles over in laughter again.

Clarke joins her seconds later. And when Raven sees the weight lifted from her shoulders she takes that moment to put a kind hand to her best friend’s cheek. “I’m glad you told me. For real.” Clarke relaxes in to the touch as Raven strokes a thumb across the recently furrowed brow. “Now, spill. What is she like?”

Clarke spent the rest of the afternoon gushing about the strong willed English tornado that she met at summer camp. **  
**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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[Click here to TUMBLE](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/paintthebrain) with me.<<<<<Let's chat.

  * Behind the scenes: This chapter was prompted from a reader's genius harry potter style title. It was actually the first comment I have ever received. And now that person is one of my best friends. So thank you Ao3, thank you tumblr, and thank you CLEXA for bringing me to one of my favorite people on earth. Cybersoulmates for life, Doc.
  * Not-So-Fun fact: It's ok to be sad about what happened. Talk to me. Tell me your feelings. I am here for you pals.
  * Fun fact:This fic will be finished. I'm not going anywhere. Hopefully, I'll have the next chapter up by Monday evening. And because I like you, I'll even tell you the title ahead of time. Lexa Woods and the Millers' Daughter.




	13. Lexa Woods and the Millers' Daughter

**The Miller Residence**

**Thanksgiving 2007**

**The living room**

 

The swaying sweeping of the white birch branches against the Millers’ family home was a herald of the coming winter winds. It was enough to deter anyone from walking out the door into the cold November rain. But everyone had already been lulled into a comfortable, warm haze by the crackling fire and the traditional Thanksgiving dinner. The meal had been engorging and coma-inducing as custom demands.

Artigas was the first to snap out of the lethargy. He turned to his boyfriend and slapped a lackadaisical kiss on his cheek. Sloppy and wet. Nathan cringed playfully and went to wipe his face of the cooling saliva, but Art beat him to it. Wiping a deft hand across his chiseled jaw, allowing it to linger as he cooed, “Your family really knows how to make a turkey.” He gave his boyfriend of nearly 4 years a mischievous look and pokes him in the same cheek he had moistened moments earlier. “The meal was good too.” He quickly twists his wrist so fingers can dangle like a giblet beneath Nathan’s bronze chin.

Nathan narrows his eyes as a smirk of amusement takes over his mouth. “I am not a turkey.”

“Says you.” He sticks out his tongue and Nathan quickly leans forward and kisses the tongue into his mouth. A look of reverie washes over Art’s face. “Mmm. I’d still gobble you up anytime.”

This interaction incites a muted chuckle from Lexa and a guffaw from Costia next to her. Nathan chastises his sister with a knowing glare and an annoyed “Get stuffed, Cos.” Artigas not missing a beat says, “Oh I think she is hoping tonight’s the night she does.” Lexa blushes the color of the cranberry sauce left forgotten on the counter.

They’ve been dating for 6 months. Well, in each other’s lives for 6 months. Their first date was 5 months ago. And she agreed to label them a couple months later. Lexa had been wary after their first meeting at her future leaders of America awards banquet, but Costia had taken her by storm. Swept into her life and took over her thoughts. And that gave Lexa pause and unimaginable fear. 4 months as a couple without sex was unheard of in this day and age. But there was just something. Something beyond fear. Something beyond the potential loss that stopped her from taking the next step. Something beyond the deeply grained knowledge that at some point she will be rejected. There was just something Lexa could not put her finger on, so perhaps that is why she hadn’t put her fingers in Costia yet.

 

**Bleeker St**

**May 2007 11:33pm**

**A night club**

The club is reverberating with an offset tempo. One that makes Lexa feel twice as excited as she already is. She is pumping with adrenaline still from her utter success at the rewards dinner. Anya is dancing with Art. Nate finally met up with them for the after party. He is currently at the bar with his sister. They are all here to celebrate Lexa’s victory.

After the ceremony, as soon as the final goodbyes of the night had been given by the MC, Lexa was approached by known do-gooder, internet mogul, and avid cos-player, Titus Fleimkepper. He had presented her with promises to entirely fund her organization for as long as she wanted. He gave her his contact information and told her to set up a time to meet to go over logistics.

Without a doubt it was all she ever asked for. Wrapped in a neat little bald bow.

Overwhelmed with victory and pride Lexa was charming and happy and full and free. Nathan’s sister noticed. And she had been too beautiful for autopilot Lexa to resist.

 

**The club**

**May 2007 1:01am**

**A dark corner**

“Costia.” Lexa pressed a gentle hand into the shoulder of the girl she had been kissing. Costia’s lips lingered in the space they had just been for a beat too long. Eyes closed. “I think you are beautiful. But I am a slow mover. This kiss. Let’s leave it here.” The flips and whirls of the manual controls switching back on. The Commander mask taking its rightful place across Lexa’s chiseled features.

Costia gave her a soft smile and a nod, only backing down for the sake of Lexa’s comfort level in this moment. “Lexa, I’d like to take you on a date. Nathan has talked about you since he met you. Said we would be perfect for each other except that I was away at Oxford. I want to find out if he is right.” Costia lays a gentle, kind hand on Lexa’s bicep. “He is almost never right, Lexa. Let’s let him have this one.”

Lexa almost smiled and kissed her again. Instead, she lengthened her neck and hardened her eyes. “I’m sorry. I am flattered, but I cannot afford distractions. Especially now.”

Costia’s voice was strangled, but warm. “I understand. And I won’t push. It’s just yea, I’m going to push a little. I hope you are prepared for that.” And she smiled a livid smile. Lexa couldn’t help but match it. Lexa felt shivers up her spine as fingers skimmed the sensitive flesh at her collar bone. “See you around, Lexa.” Costia’s eyes lingered on Lexa’s lips as the vixen slinked passed her in a single sensual movement. Lexa didn’t have time to turn away from the wall before Costia pressed herself into her back, lips at her ear. “Don’t think of me as a distraction.” The pressure removed and the whisper turned into a husky promise. “Think of me as an investment.”

 

**The next 3 weeks**

Costia pursued her with the fire and fervor she’d promised. And Lexa had thought she was prepared to deny any advances. She had too much to worry. Graduating college, finding a job, reading case studies for her start of law school, still volunteering. This was all in addition to meeting with Titus Fleimkepper twice a week to get her non-profit organization off the ground. They were hoping to open the first office in NYC by the end of the year. They’d decided to call it the Infinity Coalition. This task alone was overwhelming. She just didn’t have time for dates.

Costia was relentless in a gentle prodding way. Sending flowers to her, Art, and Anya’s apartment. Arranging for her coffee to be free at the café she went to read her case studies. She shrugged them off and continued with her life as planned. Yes, Lexa was prepared to deny any and all advances. What Lexa wasn’t prepared for was Art and Nate taking Costia’s side.

Artigas was far more aggressive than Costia’s polite, but eager pursuit. He left Post-it notes all over her apartment about all the great things Costia had done while at Oxford. Top of her class. Also pre-law. Founder and Co-leader of the gay/straight alliance organization at the school. And a dozen other things that matched Lexa’s achievements. Art and Nate constantly texted very flattering pictures of her. Artigas spent an entire hour once simply repeating “It’s just one date,” any time Lexa tried to engage him in conversation. Anya even joined in once when Lexa bemoaned Art’s pestering, “I’ll help you. But it’ll Costia.” By early June Lexa gave in just to get them off her back and agreed to do a study session with Costia. This eventually turned into dinner and is now considered their first date. A first date became a second. Lexa allowed it, but she was never sure why.

 

**The Miller Residence**

**Thanksgiving 2007**

**The Living Room**

           

Art throws downs the last of the Black Friday ads onto the coffee table. “Nothing good this year, fam. Guess no fist fights in our future.” He says in mock deflation.

Costia returns the ad she’d been looking at to the table. Her head pressed into Lexa’s stomach. Lexa sitting on the couch feet on the coffee table. Costia tucks her head slightly into Lexa’s abs, muffled she says “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Her mouth expanding into a cavernous yawn. Art simply shrugs and smiles, turning to Nate. “I think it’s bed time. Gotta get up early for those 5 dollar flannels for our favorite lesbians.”

Lexa chuckles causing Costia’s head to bounce which earns a whine of protest for the movement, but she laughs, “Neither of us wears flannel.”

“Lexa does.” Lexa blushes a bit as Art’s confession. “Just not it front of you.”

“Oh?” Costia says with a half amused smirk. A smirk that covers the hurt. The hurt that Lexa sometimes sees because Lexa has yet to give tiny details like that without feeling entirely too vulnerable. To open up and just be. Like she is with Anya. Like she is with Art. But Costia had stopped pushing for these details. So Lexa never gave them willingly. Costia sits up and turns to her girlfriend. “I quite like to see that.” And the smile is soft and telling. Lexa feels a pang of guilt.

Art stands and stretches. Nate is still sitting with his legs crossed on the floor downing the last of his pumpkin ale. “Ok, turkey. How about you come pull on my wishbone?” Artigas says guiding Nate up.

“You’re pulling on mine tonight.” Nate chides.

“You wiiiiiiiish.” Art calls out whimsically as he sprints to the bedroom. Nate turns back to Lexa and Costia and just shrugs and smiles before taking after his boyfriend.

Costia turns to her girlfriend and looks at her with kind eyes. “They really are made for each other, aren’t they?” She leans in close and ghosts her lips over Lexa’s tiny ears. Lexa shudders as Costia finishes her thought. “Maybe they’ll say that about us one day.” And both the Commander and Lexa are struck by just how beautiful this woman is.

Physical attraction was not the problem. Of that Lexa was sure. And Lexa liked Costia’s personality, but there was something that was just off about their chemistry. The banter. The trust. Just an overwhelming sense that something didn’t fit.

Maybe Lexa was just scared. Relationships are terrifying. Or maybe it was because Lexa could only offer parts of herself to Costia. A lifetime of conditioning taught her that the Commander is what the world wanted. Smooth and practiced in the social arts. Where as Lexa was a vulnerable, bumbling goof. There was no way Costia would be in to that. Lexa has been alive for 21 years. And in those 21 years, other than her family, only Art loved Lexa. Just Lexa. Her entirely too efficient cerebral cortex knew that odds were stacked against her. Lexa was a soft palpitating heart and the Commander was the equally as vulnerable brain. But the brain knew how to protect itself. The heart was simply a foundry where whimsy was made.

She left little Lexa behind in that tube slide all those years ago. And she had only questioned her reason for doing so when she met Art. She had no choice when it came to Art. Lexa, the commander, and everything in between responded wholly to who he was. Lexa was waiting for that to happen with Costia. But it hadn’t. Not the way Art, Anya, Nate predicted it would. And perhaps that is the main reason why Lexa continued to drag her feet. Waiting for an absolute. Waiting for her heart and head to respond wholly to who Costia was.

There were parts. Parts that Lexa liked. Maybe even loved. But she couldn’t pinpoint them exactly. If you asked Lexa her opinion about anything it was always well-formulated. Lexa thought about things more than she spoke them. Her opinions have been chiseled and sculpted. Calculated and recalculated. Formed into the perfect palatable piece of information. Costia was the same way. But it never seemed like their opinions matched. World philosophy. Life. Romance. And all of this was great fodder for the commander and her oral acclivity. And that part – the heated debates – made Lexa feel alive. But that was the limit to their chemistry beyond the physical.

Maybe that was the reason. Lexa had not allowed much of the physical into their relationship. Always a slow mover. Always wanting to keep sex until it was the last possible way left to express how she felt about someone. And being undecided about Costia. There wasn’t really anything to express except doubt.

But she was supposed to want this. Want someone strong and courageous and beautiful. Even if it didn’t feel quite right. Even if she didn’t know why it didn’t feel right.

The slamming of the door to Nate’s room interrupted Lexa’s thoughts. She realized she had not responded to Costia’s statement in kind. “Perhaps they will. One day.”

Costia nodded, gave that look of jest that hid the hurt again. One day. She knew it hurt Costia because Costia loved her. Today. Thought they were perfect today. And Lexa felt another pang of guilt.

They lounge for another 15 minutes. Breathing in the last lingering tendrils of scents from the thanksgiving dinner. The branches still beating against the windows. The rain leaving soft dollops on the roof. Nate’s door opens again. Costia turns her head to the sound. “Let’s get out of here.” She stands smiling, dragging Lexa with her.

Lexa lets Costia pull her through the house. Hands entwined. She stops suddenly at the back door. “Are you ready for this?” It’s a loaded question. Is Lexa ready to brave the crisp chill of the late fall? Is she ready to walk the 20 feet to the guest house? Is she ready to be completely alone far from the ears of others? Is she ready to make love to her girlfriend? No. Thinks Lexa. But the Commander surprises them all when she confidently takes Costia’s hand and moves to open the door with her free hand.

They feel the chill before the even open the door. Tiny pellets of moisture reverb into their skin as they move swiftly through the back yard to the small guest house. The branches stretch out to touch them. Flicking their dying banners through the yard. They reach the door huddled together and push through embrace and slam the door behind them.

Lexa steps forward to a sight she has never seen before. Instantly she is entranced. The entire room is filled with candle light. It’s the most romantic setting Lexa has ever seen. Lexa feels overwhelmed. Soft brown fingers touch the edge of Lexa’s chin and pulls her gaze to those honey brown eyes. “Lexa, I love you. I am not going to push you. Now that I have you I don’t feel the need to do that.” She smiles and lays a soft lingering kiss on Lexa’s lips. “Don’t be scared.” Lexa likes this part. She can fall in love with this part of Costia.

“Do you want this?” There is hesitancy in Costia’s eyes as she asks. A small fear of rejection. Lexa limps into another kiss. Tentative, but ample in the pursuit of affection for this raven-haired beauty. Anchored and slightly defensive. Whether Costia senses it or not, she keeps true to her word and doesn’t push Lexa pass her threshold. She feels the walls that Lexa built and stands outside of them patiently. Costia kisses back, purposeful and with orderly infatuation. It is structured and secure and Lexa relaxes a little into it taking inventory of this moment. Ever obedient to the contours of her mind. Her rules. Her attention to details. Costia is brave. And brilliant. And beautiful. Everything Lexa could logically want. So she does. She allows herself this. This investment.

They wind serpentine through the shadows and tiny vibrant beacons thoughtfully place around the room. “You did this for me?”

Costia nods sheepishly. “I’d do anything for you.” She looks into Lexa’s eyes with a mischievously glint. “And so would Nate and Art apparently.”

“Ahh. Makes sense. They’ve wanted us together from the start.” Lexa hopes she can do anything for Costia, too. Hopes she can stay brave in this moment. She pushes them towards the bed at the back of the tiny cottage. Latching their lips together once more. Passionate. A thundering heart resounds matching the torrent outside. Costia’s confident heart. She is breathless, and eager, and in love. Lexa puts her own heart aside. Her unsure heart. And deepens the kiss as she lays Costia onto the crisp white linens. She deftly removes each piece of Costia’s clothing tossing them aside. Pressing kisses into her skin.

Soft moans and sighs of pleasure fill the room as Lexa gives her mind and body fully to this moment.

 

 

And Lexa’s mind promises her heart that this is enough.

 

It will be enough.

 

 

 

 

One day.

 

 

 

* * *

* * *

 

[Click here to TUMBLE](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/paintthebrain) with me.

  * Call to arms: I thought it might be fun if you guys name the night club in this chapter. Ark, Arkadia, Dropship, Polis, and Camp Jaha are the usual so I could just go with that, but I’d rather you vote on one of those or come up with your own. Go crazy. Canon preferred, but all ideas entertained. Leave it in the comments.
  * Behind the scenes: I am not changing anything I had planned for this fic. I’m not ruining my story just because Jason ruined his. Nobody gets shot. Some death and minor injury ahead. But I don’t throw angst around for funsies. It will always have a purpose. It all connects somehow(hopefully). The upcoming sorrow has been an integral part of the story since the beginning. Stupid LLCruelJ (Lesbians Loathe Cruel Jason pass it on just be nice about it). I’ll let you know when the icy tendrils of angst are imminent.
  * Fun Fact: I busted up my shoulder/arm/hand pretty bad at work. So I have nothing to do beside the usual adulting like paying bills and scheduling physiotherapy. Hurray! I have time to write these for you. Boo! I can only type with one hand.
  * Special thanks goes to Dr. Schrodinger and her kitty that may or may not be there for reading this before hand and being a special little cinnamon roll made of sunshine and smarts. She makes this fic and the world a better place.
  * At this point this fic is mostly mapped out. Most of the vignettes are titled and written, ready to be written, or in need of polishing, but I still need inspiration for a few Clexa dates/ interations. What do you want to see? or as always inspire a chapter, by sharing your own experiences, dates, disasters, crushes in the comments below or use the link above to leave an anonymous ask.
  * As always thank you guys so much for your kudos and comments. Makes my day. Your support and kindness means the world!



Stay Awesome!

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	14. Clarke Griffin and the Art of Diving In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, you guys. You are all so smart and funny and creative. Your comments make me laugh so much. Thanks for being here.
> 
> This chapter is a big’un.
> 
> Warning: Vomit and Medical blood/gore

**New York City**

**Summer 2013**

**A rooftop terrace in Manhattan**

Clarke Griffin is known for diving in to all things head first. She uses her head yes, but it is her heart that propels her in to every situation. It is safe to say Clarke Griffin has a huge heart. It is what drives her to care so seamlessly for others. She is exceptionally good at understanding what others want or need. Even if she is a little oblivious to her own feelings sometimes. Over the course of her lifetime this ability to discern the meaning behind others’ thoughts and actions evolved into an uncanny ability to make exceptionally well educated guesses about any given situation or moment (not just people) and find the most positive outcome. But being right more times than she was wrong led to a sort of impulsivity. She stopped thinking things completely through because her hunches were always spot on. She wasn’t reckless just confident her choices would always work out favorably. It has served her very well through college, med school, and the first 13 days as an intern.

She sits on the roof of her apartment complex. Raven is stretched out beside her groaning as she takes her brace off. A very clear pattern of sweat where it had been. The air is heavy, solid, and moist around them. Penetrated only by the sounds of the city. Traffic roaring mindlessly below them. It is her first day off since she started that internship nearly 2 weeks ago. Even with all of Clarke’s innate insight into the human psyche, it doesn’t take a genius to see that Raven is just as miserable as she is.

Their little apartment had been sweltering so they came up to the roof to try and find moving air instead of remaining in that stale convection oven. When they first moved here from their graduate student housing at NYU a few weeks ago, they had been willing to compromise the lack of AC due to the close proximity to Clarke’s hospital where she’d be starting her career as a doctor and at Colombia where Raven would be doing her research in addition to a tentative professorship. Raven was seriously reconsidering the bonus of the locale in contrast with the sensation of being completely drench in her own sweat. A soft breeze blew around them, but relief was minimal. Clarke looked at her best friend and noted the exaggerated, lulling tongue hanging from her mouth causing her to look like a panting dog. Yes, Clarke’s best friend was dramatic as fuck.

But maybe the drama is warranted. This is Clarke’s only day off. And of course the New York summer had to be a bitch about it.

She is contemplating just going in to the hospital anyway because at least it has air conditioning. Raven uses both hands to shift her leg and looks up at Clarke. “It’s a pity Octavia is not here. She’d be half-naked by now. Probably using the closest water source to drench herself. Which would probably be that hose over there.” Clarke follows Raven’s line of sight to the ancient decaying pipe sticking out of the wall and the hose attached. The hose it’s self was mangled and appeared to be a mutated snake monster lying motionless on the tar roof.

“Raven. What the hell? Why didn’t you point that out sooner?”

“I didn’t say it was a good idea to use the hose. It’s probably just for watering the plants. Don’t want water collecting on the roof like that. Eventually it will cause a leak.”

“But what if we collected water in another way? Let’s get a pool.”

“Clarke, you can’t just put a pool on a roof in New York city. Engineering wise the weight might create just as many problems as running water. You would think you'd know that being the daughter of an engineer. Plus, I’m pretty sure it’s illegal.”

Clarke leans forward and lets out an exaggerated sigh as new patches of skin catch the breeze and evaporate some of the sweat pooling on her back. “Raven, just use your spatial relation skills and your tendency to ‘MacGyver’ things. Can you make a functioning pool? But doesn’t look like a pool? One that filters, disperses weight properly and stays cold with this fucking sun beating down on it?”

After some time and some muttering to herself Raven exclaims, “Yes! I can totally do that!”

Raven agrees to head into the university lab where she does her research to steal some supplies. Clarke heads to the hardware store down the street to pick up some PVC pipe, a tarp, and some other things Clarke doesn’t know what they are, but somehow she knows she’ll find them anyway.

Head first. There was no testing the waters for Clarke Griffin. Her intuition has never led her astray. Discerning meaning and context in seconds. It has served her well for her 26 years on the planet. Life came at her in waves and she was one hell of a swimmer. Each figurative swell cresting and falling against the shore and she would dive head first in to the breaking surf. On rare occasion she hit her head on a shoal. But within minutes she would find a new way. And once that wave crashed and spread across the sand she’d see the next one coming and dive head first into that too. But the funny thing about that phrase, ‘diving in head first’, is that it has very little to do with the head because is usually the metaphorical heart leading the charge. The heart where instinct and gut reaction reside. The heart where choices are made in an instant just because it feels right. Clarke’s ability to use her heart so skillfully was about to be truly tested.

 

**Down the street**

**12:47 pm**

**Al’s Hardware**

The bell rings as Clarke steps through the door and it is like stepping into the past. Hammers of all shapes and sizes. Every variety of saw hangs on the cork board. There are two people in here. One appears to be a customer putting an assortment of screws into a brown paper bag and the other must be Al. He looks like an Al. Loose jowls peppered with 2-3 days of facial hair growth. He wears overalls and a dusty work shirt. Clarke has half a mind to check the GPS on her phone to make sure she didn’t accidentally end up in 1950’s suburbia somehow.

Al catches sight of her and a full smile develops. “Howdy. How can I help you?” Yep, Clarke definitely walked right into another time or place. Because this kinda greeting is a rarity here in New York.

She returns his smile and walks forward. She sees the name Chester embroidered on his work shirt and she absentmindedly blurts out “Who’s Al?” But that’s ok because stuff like that always works out in Clarke’s favor. She is rarely embarrassed. Because people just seemed to be charmed by her. She has faith that Chester will understand what she means. And she knows he does because his smile only grows.

“Al is short for Alie. My daughter.” He turns to a bulletin board behind him. There’s a picture of him there. He is wearing a tux and if Clarke is being honest he cleans up kind of nicely. Next to him is a raven-haired beauty that Clarke can only describe as what she had always imagined Athena to look like. Dark hair, a mysterious smolder, and infinite intelligence hidden in her intense gaze. Behind the two figures is a giant sign for the Human Rights Campaign. He smiles wistfully at the picture then turns back to Clarke with that patented smile on his face. “She’s a gay. Fights for the rights of other’s. I am very proud of her.” He scans Clarke up and down and he gives her a look of inquiry. And she remembers what she’s wearing. Raven told her she looked very “daddy” today. “She’s meeting me for lunch at 1. Should be here any minute.”

Clarke chuckles at his thinly veiled attempt at match making. “Well, yes I am a gay too. Well, a bi.” She says answering his unspoken question. “But most of us just prefer to be called gay or bi. No article necessary.” She says with a playful edge of sincerity. Chester fidgets with his finger tips as he meets Clarke’s eyes.

“I meant no offense, young lady. So do you think you might wanna stick around to meet her?”

Clarke considers it for a moment. Casual flings here and there had been her go to over the last couple years. But sizing up the situation, Clarke realizes that casual was probably not an option with this intense looking woman. “I am not interested in dating right now.” She says cheerfully, however if she was being honest she knew the real reason she wasn’t really interested in anything serious. Her heart wasn’t in it since things went south with Lucy in the first year of med school. “But if I wasn’t just starting the hardest year of my life I would be honored to take your daughter out, sir.” He nods and continues his incessant smiling. “In the meantime can you help me find these things?”

She and Lucy had fallen apart. It was inevitable. Not for a lack of trying. They made it nearly 2 and a half years in a long distance relationship. Going back and forth from their respective countries. Clarke knew from that first kiss that they had what it took to go the distance. That Lucy was worth a little inconvenience and discord. Because Clarke always had the right answer or something close to it. Just because it didn’t work out didn’t mean she hadn’t been right about them. They as a couple had what it took when it came to the little things, but they couldn’t find a way to make the big picture happen. Lucy stayed in England to finish her Doctorate and Clarke completed med school. They simply couldn’t find a way to make the lives that each wanted intersect. Despite the way their relationship ended, Clarke was confident that she had been right about Lucy and through her casual flings she was simply waiting to feel that same sense of totality with someone else.

Clarke watches Chester shuffle down the aisles. She looks back at the other customer. He doesn’t look much different from Chester. He is perusing the floor to ceiling lawn ornament section along the far wall on the right. From little plaster lawn gnomes at the bottom to dense concrete cherubs standing guard precariously on the top shelf. Clarke is amused with the sheer number and variety. She voices that notion to Chester as he continues to peck through the aisles looking for Clarke’s requested materials. “You have a lot of lawn ornaments, Chester. There aren’t even that many lawns in New York.”

He smiles his trademark smile as he comes back with the first haul of materials and sets them on the counter before setting out down the last aisle to gather the larger materials. He chuckles at Clarke’s observation, “Yea. It was my wife’s idea. She reckons New Yorkers are an eclectic bunch. She was right. Sometimes college kids come in and get them for their dorms.” He was now at the far end of the store picking up long strips of piping that Clarke had requested. “Earl just likes to take a look every once in a while once he’s finished with his regular replenishing. Isn’t that right Earl?” The customer looks up from the tiny plaster baby wrapped in disembodied hands and angel wings. “That one he’s holding right there is my biggest seller. Had a couple of them hipsters in here the other day. Bought 5 of them. Said they were ironic. Whatever that means. I didn’t even mean to order the damn things.” He huffs a little as he works to steady the small collection of pipes in his hand. He places them on the counter with a clatter. “They creep me out.”

 Chester scans the collection of bits and bobs. Odds and ends. And curiosity gets the best of him. “What are you making here, lil’ lady?” Clarke isn’t quite prepared to answer. _Oh you know just making a pool for no damn reason._ But being the smooth operator she is, she simply flashes her disarming smile and licks her lips before beginning to answer.

A sharp crack followed by a dull and subsequent shattering pulls both of them out of their exchange. Clarke whips her head around to see what the cause is. Before she can turn around, instinct instantly tells her something is off. When she sees that Earl is no longer standing there, her feet push her into action and she rounds the aisle with speed she didn’t know she had. And everything becomes crystal fucking clear. Earl is lying haphazardly on his side, arms flown forward in front of him, legs kicked out at awkward angles, the remnants of a concrete lawn ornament scattered around him. “Oh shit.” She says as she rushes forward and quickly crouches beside the older gentleman.

Her eyes urgently scan the man and the correlative parts of the area. The shelf 10 feet up is leaning just a degree lower than it had been and is missing one cherub. “Fuck.” She says in a breathy whisper while her blue eyes continue to survey the man for any immediate injuries. His awkward angle does not allow for a full scan so Clarke checks his C-spine before she moves him. Finding no aberrations she lays him on his back just as Chester takes a spot on the floor beside her. Panic showing on all his features. Clarke is built for situations like this. Her ability to soothe others while simultaneously processing any information thrown at her. All of this had taken about 30 seconds if Clarke had to guess. She checks the clock on the wall above the check out counter.

**12:54pm**

Now that she has a full view of the front of Earl she could see the redness and swelling at the hair line. Head trauma. “Oh fuck shit.” Still breathy, but Clarke is in control. She knows she can help. Her training kicks in.

Vitals first. Breathing. It’s uneven, but good enough. Pulse. Clarke sets her fingers just under the man’s chin. She feels the remnants of a missed patch of hair during this morning’s shave. She feels for the steady beat that should come within the second. “Shit. Shit. Shit. Come on.” another half second passes before she feels the telltale push against her finger tips. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Brachycardic.” All of the correlations, all information suddenly congeals. A hypothesis. THE hypothesis. She knows she’s right even before Earl confirms her suspicions in the form of a fountain of green and grey chunks from his mouth. She rolls him over on his side to keep him choking on his vomit. “FUuuCK.”

**12:55pm**

Clarke knows. Knows that this situation is going to test the limits of her effective decision making skills. Because Clarke _knows_ with every fiber of her being this situation is dire at best. But she needs just one more confirmation. One more chance that her hypothesis is erroneous. “Please, let me be wrong. Fuck. Please.” She says it more to herself than to Chester. But it wouldn’t have mattered if she did. Chester is in no position to hear her right now. He has turned his head and Clarke can see the obvious signs of dry-heaving wracking his body. Hoping that Earl is not likely to give a repeat performance of his predigested-food geyser she returns him to his position on his back and prays one more time to a god that she doesn’t believe in that she is soo soooo fucking wrong about this.

**12:56**

Her steady hands hover over Earl’s eyelids. Carefully she pulls the right lid apart. She breathes a sigh of relief when it flexes with the incoming light. With less trepidation she moves to the other eye and pulls it apart expecting, hoping, for a similar response. “Fuck.” Earl’s right eye is a dark black dinner plate of confirmation. The huge round, blown iris verifying completely what Clarke had hoped beyond hope she’d been wrong about.

Chester turns back to face Clarke. His eyes are glassy. He is a violent shade of green. “Chester. Get your ass together. I need you to call for an ambulance. Like right now. Don’t fucking stop telling them that they need to be here. As soon as possible. You need to fight. Fight like Alie fights but harder. Can you do that? Can you fight for Earl?” The man nods fervently and stands and rushes to the landline behind the desk. He punches in the three infamous numbers.

**12:57**

Clarke continues formulating her plan. Using her incomparable abilities to assess and deduce. She knows they are running out of time. Even if the ambulance got here right now and then to Clarke’s hospital just down the road right after that, without any other intervention Earl would still die.

Clarke continues to monitor his vitals. She looks to Chester who is still silent. They should have picked up by now. She reaches into her own pocket and dials the hospital she works at. Someone picks up on the second ring just as she hears Chester beginning to speak into the phone he is holding.

**12:58**

Clarke confidently relays her dilemma, “Hello. This is Dr. Griffin. I am a new intern at the hospital. I am in a pretty desperate situation. I have a man with an epidural hematoma and I need some help. I need you to see if there are any ambulances that may have dropped off a patient recently.” She spends the next precious seconds telling the nurse she needs them to come immediately to this address or this man will die. Best case scenario they have about 10 more minutes until he flat lines. Likely scenario they about 5 more minutes until he has permanent brain damage. The nurse agrees to fulfill the request before she can hang up Clarke tells her to send an attending doctor.

**12:59**

She turns to see Chester speaking rather heatedly into the receiver of his phone. He looks back at her and gives thumbs up. She nods in acknowledgement and says “Tell them he is going to die if he doesn’t get to a hospital soon. Tell them he has unilateral pupil dilation.” She’s flawlessly done all that she can so far. She’s followed all her instincts. But one. _You have what you need. You can do this on your own_. Clarke weighs the options with her typical efficiency. Pray for an ambulance. Or start the process right now. “Fuck.” 5 minutes and 45 seconds since impact. 9 minutes and 15 seconds until death. 4 minutes and 15 seconds until brain death. Chester is waving his hands emphatically, screaming in to the phone.

After a beat he says, “They said the closest unit is about 5 minutes away.”

“Shit. Can’t catch a break can we Earl?” She says looking down at the man then lifts her head to yell back at Chester “Tell them to send them anyway.” She’s exhausted just about all her viable resources. There are only two things left she can do. She can wait. Wait for Earl to die. Wait for his brain to die. Or she can do the thing she knows she needs to be done. A thousand voices in a thousand other moments would have screamed at her for even thinking it. It’s dangerous. It’s borderline reckless, but Clarke _knows._ She’s known from the moment that she felt Earl’s too slow pulse. It would come to this. “Fuck it. I’m doing it.”

She checks Earl’s vitals once more and rolls him on his side just in case and then scrambles to her feet. She does the best she can to gather all she needs. She’s halfway down the power tool aisle picking out a bit when the bell over the door rings out. A beautiful woman in a red dress stands in the frame. Clarke quickly recognizes her as Chester’s daughter Alie.

**1:00pm**

“Oh thank god.” Clarke practically screams, because what she is about to do requires another set of hands and it is pretty obvious from Chester’s earlier display of disgust just from vomit that he won’t be able to be that. She looks back at him. He’s still yelling at the dispatcher anyway. 1pm. Alie stands there immaculate brows furrowed in confusion. “Alie, I presume.” The furrow deepens as the woman cocks her head to one side. “Hi, I’m Clarke. We have an emergency situation. I hope you have a stronger stomach than your father.” Clarke’s arms are full with supplies so she nods her head toward the aisle that contains the still unconscious Earl.

As they reach him the brunette asks “What happened?” Her voice is eerily calm. Almost robotic. She takes some items from Clarke’s hands and follows her lead setting them up in a line on a make shift surgical table made of two 5 gallon buckets and metal sheeting.

Clarke scans the items. Making sure she has everything she needs. “Head trauma. He has blood pooling in the space between his skull and brain. I need to relieve the pressure.”

Alie also scans the items. A power drill. A funny shaped bit. Rags. A box cutter. “Oh.” She says connecting all the dots. “Ok.” She agrees in that same cool tone. And it irks Clarke and centers her at the same time. “Do you need anything else?’

“Ideally an operating room, but I’ll make due with something to sterilize everything. Some gloves. Something to lubricate the burr hole while I drill.” Alie fixes her with her steely stare and then in one graceful movement stands and hurries behind the counter. Chester quickly touches her shoulder as he hangs up the phone. Clarke hears Alie repeat the list to her father.

**1:01pm**

Clarke has already cut back chunks of Earl’s hair with the box cutter by the time Alie and Chester return to her side. Immediately she can see Chester start to change into that telltale shade of green again, but before she can give him anymore instructions Alie Speaks up, “Why don’t you go out front and wait for the ambulance, Dad?”

“Yup, ok.” and he’s already at the door when a burp escapes him.

Clarke sees what the woman has brought and if this weren’t a time sensitive matter she would have hugged her right there. 3 pristine first aid kits with gloves and gauze and some alcohol swabs inside, a few bottles of water, and rubbing alcohol. “Thank goodness nobody ever buys these things.” Her voice is lighter now.

Clarke smiles as she cracks open the first kit and takes out a pair of gloves. “Put these on and start dowsing anything you see in rubbing alcohol.”

Alie moves to the makeshift table and begins disinfecting the box cutter and the drill bit. Following Clarke’s instructions she does the floor around Earl, Earl’s head, and then Clarke holds out her hands and Alie dowses them too.

Clarke shakes them out and instructs Alie to put her gloves on for her. She’s ready.

**1:02 pm**

“I need you to keep small drops of water coming while I drill, Ok?” The woman nods her head and grabs the water bottle. “Check his pulse periodically. Wipe up the blood. Hold his head still. Are you sure you’re ok with all this?”

She nods again, “I kinda have to be, don’t I?”

Clarke smiles. She likes that answer. But that will have to wait.

She put’s the bit in the drill and gives the trigger a squeeze to make sure it is functioning. The sharp sounds of mechanics working in tandem fills the air. She sets the drill down and picks up the box cutter. Clarke takes a deep breath and dives in.

 She finds the patch of bald skin that she made moments ago. Making a small incision. Instantly the blood flows from the cut. Before Clarke has a chance to grab a rag or gauze pad, Alie is there blotting the wound. And Clarke feels a sense of relief as the familiar feeling of things going her way returns. She quickly pulls the incision apart as far it will give and picks up the drill once more. The soothing mechanical whirl becomes a furious buzzing as the drill bites into bone.

**1:03pm**

Clarke’s steady hands hold the drill as she applies gentle pressure, waiting for the indicative soft give as she breaches the cranium fully. Alie works nearly autonomously around her, following the previous instructions given, but also already seeming to know what the next step will be before Clarke can even say anything. Clarke would maybe reconsider her flings only policy for this woman with the sharp mind, if she wasn’t about to expose this man’s brain to the open air.

   The drill returns to its gentle pitch signaling it has completed its journey through the hardest bone in the human body. As soon as Clarke removes the drill, the blood that had been pooling beneath the skull causing all the problems comes spilling out. Clarke practically throws the drill down as Alie tries desperately to keep up with the blood bubbling out of the 1cm hole. Clarke checks his pulse and breathes a sigh of relief as it returns to a satisfactory rate of 1 pulse per second.

**1:04pm**

Again the bell sounds as Clarke and Alie continue to soak up the blood escaping Earl’s brain. Clarke looks up to see two paramedics and a familiar face. It’s a tall woman with salt and pepper hair with rigid posture. Clarke had her as a professor in her last semester of med school. She had been commanding and fascinating, but her specialty was research.

Before Clarke can stop the words, they coming tumbling out like excess blood from a cranial cavity, “What are you doing here?”

The timbre of the woman’s voice is lilting and had always captivated Clarke during lectures, but as she speaks now it sends shivers down Clarke’s body, “I could say the same thing, Dr. Griffin.” Her brown eyes scanning the scene as the older doctor takes in the organized chaos. “I was dropping off some data to a colleague when I heard these paramedics talking about how some intern was in an emergency down the street. I figured any help was better than none.” Her tones almost patronizing, almost on the edge of being antagonistic as the paramedics work quickly between them. Clarke stands as Alie walks outside to her father, but not before casting a kind smile is Clarke’s direction.

Clarke pulls off her gloves and braces herself for what she thought was going to be a lecture. She is prepared to defend herself, but she feels a hand on her back. “Clearly you didn’t need my help.” Clarke looks up at the woman as she looks down at her approvingly. She pulls Clarke forward toward the gurney as it wheels Earl out to the ambulance. “We don’t know everything yet, but I’m pretty sure you saved this man’s life.” Clarke smiles, relieved that all of her guesswork paid off even though she had been sure it would. She quickly sends off a text to Raven before hopping in the back of the Ambulance with her ex-professor and Earl.

 

**Al’s Hardware**

**4:19pm**

Clarke walks in hesitantly. She walk to the aisle where the chaos had take place not three hours earlier and finds Alie bent over on her hands and knees scrubbing at the blood stains. “I’m sorry,” Clarke says.

Alie turns her head and smiles. It’s comforting and Clarke feels her heart independently pick up speed. A symptom of being on to something. Catching a clue. “Don’t worry about it. You saved a man’s life. It’s the least I can do.” And her smile grows and Clarke’s heart grows with it.

“Right.” She looks down at the mess. “Yes, Earl is going to be ok. Thank you for your help. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Again, No worries, Clarke.” Clarke looks back up at the dark-haired woman questioningly. And Alie already knows the answer. “Of course I remember your name. I may have been drilling it into my head since the moment I saw you. But then, you know, you actually drilled into someone else’s. So now you and your name are kinda in here forever.”

Clarke touches her neck nervously, but confidently changes the subject, “How’s your dad?”

 “No worse for the wear. You should have seen him when I scraped my knees as a child.” Alie smiles and moves to the counter. “Also, he said to let you know that if you came back these are on the house.” She hands Clarke several brown paper bags filled with the items she forgot she requested. Their fingers touch and Clarke feels overcome with that specific sensation again. Maybe she had been wrong. Maybe she was meant to know Alie. Because now.

 Now she has more information. All these things are adding up. The cool confidence. The charming wit. The ability to make accurate predictions. The effortless kindness behind a sexy exterior. Clarke knows. She _knows._  That they are meant to cross paths for whatever reason. And for the second time that day she takes a deep breath and dives in.

 “So my friend and I are building a pool on our roof just because we can. Would you like to come hang out?”

“I’d love to.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

* * *

 

 Click >[here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/paintthebrain)< to hang out on Tumblr  
• Behind the scenes: I had a blast with this. Here’s the image of the ironic lawn ornament: [weird baby thing](http://st.hzcdn.com/simgs/40e1350705f06240_4-7036/traditional-garden-statues-and-yard-art.jpg)  
• Fun Fact: My favorite color is orange.  
• Special thanks to the Doc for geeking out about the medical parts with me and making sure everything is plausible and on point.  
• As always thank you guys so much for your kudos and comments. They are always so insightful and cleverand funnnnny. Thank you.  
Stay Awesome!

 

 


	15. Lexa Woods and the Neuro-Cardio Conflict

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. When I am reading a work in progress, I like to read the previous chapter when a new one is posted. To get me back into the fic’s universe. This a non-linear story so the previous chapter might not feed in to the next vignette. So I thought it’s be helpful to give you suggestions of all the chapters that connect directly with this chapter. I definitely suggest you read Oral Acclivity again. And Miller’s Daughter if you have time. Anyway…
> 
> ANGST

**Lexa Woods and the Neuro-Cardio Conflict**

* * *

 

 

**An apartment in Hell’s Kitchen, NYC**

**April 2010**

**Their bedroom**

 Silence. The kind of silence that comes when the dust settles. When every syllable has been yelled and sent flying across the room. It is the hush that comes in the moments after an explosion has ended. And seconds later comes the stingy whine of a ringing in the ears as they protest the cacophony. A single light illuminates the room. Providing a beacon in a room darkened by hurtful words.

 Lexa moves about the room. Preparing for tomorrow. Tomorrow is the day she announces the opening of another office of the Infinity Coalition. Making it the 13th in as many cities. Her pantsuit is pressed and resting on a hanger in her closet. Her speech is memorized and perfect. Case studies are completed for law school. Everything is ready. She shuts off the light and moves toward the bed.

 Costia is turned away from her, lying on her side, facing the windows. She hasn’t stirred since their argument ended. The darkness is disorienting. Lexa stretches her fingers out towards her girlfriend. Trying to remedy the distance between them.

 Lexa’s finger wrap around the soft cotton of a pillow instead. She turns preparing to take the pillow with her as she condemns herself to the couch for the third night in a row.

 She hears the violent rush of sheets being ripped from their resting place as Costia turns quickly to her. Lexa feels a hand on her wrist. Gentle, but firm. Lexa releases her hold on the pillow and allows herself to be pulled down to the bed. Costia urges the stoic brunette to meet her eyes as she utters, “I’m sorry, Lex. I’m so very sorry.”

 The first time Costia cheated, Lexa rationalized it. It was only a kiss between classmates. Lexa blamed herself. Knew she could have been a better girlfriend. Could have made more time for Costia. Files all of it away makes and peace with it. This will be enough. _When?_ Her heart whispers. _One day,_ her head assures.

 The second time Costia cheats Lexa is not so quick to take ownership of their problems. But. Costia blames Lexa. Accuses her of loving her organization more than her. Law school is more important than their relationship. She tears in to Lexa with logic and reason. Lexa’s head hears the argument and accepts it. That had been 3 days ago.

 Silence. Since then Lexa had suffered in silence while the war between head and heart waged on within her. Costia had always forgiven her for her shortcomings. So Lexa should forgive Costia for hers.

 Costia is staring at her with wide brown eyes. Still gripping Lexa’s wrist. Lexa remembers back to the night they met. The night Lexa gave the speech that helped her start her beloved nonprofit organization. Costia stood by her through all of the late nights. Summers spent in different cities. Lexa did her best to be what Costia needed. But it wasn’t enough.

 “Ok, Cos. Ok.” Lexa leans forward and presses a tentative kiss in to her mouth. She whispers, “I forgive you,” against plump lips. Lexa thinks that Costia tastes different. Foreign. But she pushes further into the kiss. Willing the new flavor to fill her senses and make the apology real.

**20 minutes later**

Lexa is knuckle deep in forgiveness. Her girlfriend moaning and squirming beneath her when suddenly her heart rattled in its cage of bones. Twisting and shaking harder than the woman beneath her. She quickens the pumping of her fingers into her. A pace to match the beating of Lexa’s heart as Lexa’s head drifts back to the night she met Costia. The night that her heart had been full and animated and unwanting. It is a stark contrast to how it feels now. Heavy and imprisoned and depleted. Lexa’s heart screams. When once it had whispered its wants. Its needs. Now it is the only thing Lexa hears. Not the moans. Not her name being called in earnest as Costia approaches her climax. No. All Lexa hears is the thumping of that muscle. _You promised_. Costia ripples with pleasure as Lexa sends one more forceful thrust rumbling upward.

They both collapse to the bed in a distorted, slick mess. They are entangled and pressed close. The intimacy should be reassuring, calming. But it only succeeds in making Lexa feel further away. Between them lies a chasm of apologies. Promises they made to each other. To do better. To be better. Her heart says, _you promised me._ Her head says, _I’m sorry._ Lexa pulls in breath after breath. The air is stale and inadequate. Each lungful that Lexa draws leaves her feeling less and less satiated. Each moment that passes she becomes emptier. Her heart refuses to let any part of her body relax until it is heard. _You promised me one day this would be enough._

And finally her head catches up. _It’s not enough. It was never enough._ Lexa covers her eyes with her arm. She takes another breath. It feels like it’s the first real breath she has taken since the night they met. Because her chest is finally free of its burdens. Her heart is finally able to move. Preparing to be full again. Her voice is faint, but purposeful when she finally voices this epiphany, “It’s not enough, Cos.”

The woman wipes the sweat from her brow and hums a note of inquiry. “I guess we could go another round.”

“No. This. Us.” Her lip quivers as she releases a shaky breath. “We are not enough.”

Costia sits straight up. Stares into her girlfriend’s eyes. Her eyelids flutter as the tears threaten to escape. She hangs her head. “I’m sorry.” she says in a whisper.

The tears run down her cheek and Lexa feels for her. Because despite all of the flaws in their relationship, Lexa still cares for her. Lexa is sorry, too. Sorry she couldn’t be more for Costia. Sorry she felt like she had to hide. Lexa is sorry she kept Costia just close enough, but never really let her in. They’ve lived their lives parallel to each other. They’ve apologized enough for things they can’t control. Despite what everyone thinks. Costia and Lexa are not a good match. “Costia. When was the last time you felt full? When was the last time you thought about the future?” The silence permeates again, but this time instead of the aftermath of chaos. It is the dust settling. It is the end of discord. And they both know it.” We are just surviving, Costia. Day to day. Don’t we deserve better than that?”

The tiny muscle relaxes. And her body eases as the war between her head and heart finally subsides.

 

Because the two factions finally agree. _Sorry should not just mean something. It should mean everything._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

* * *

 

[Click here to TUMBLE](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/paintthebrain) with me.

  * Behind the scenes: I’ve planted so many seeds in this fic and now they are finally starting to pay off. :)
  * Fun Fact: Clexa is coooooming. I think ‘how they meet’ will start to become clearer in the next chapter. I've already dropped clues in previous chapters. (Still got a little bit more until we are our girls are ready for each other though)
  * The Doc deserves the world. She reads these. She makes them better.




	16. Clarke Griffin and 16 minutes of Fame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It might be helpful to read the last few paragraphs of Clarke Griffin and the Art of Diving In
> 
> I am very exciiiiiited!  
> I hope you enjoy this.

**Manhattan**

**October 2014 7:12 am**

**96 th st Station**

She walked up the stairs, free from the tepid smell of stale air and urine. Hoping to be bathed in light. But while on the subway, somewhere between her hospital and this moment, the sky had covered itself in green and grey hues. Dark, ominous clouds scooping at the buildings around her. She pulled her hood up as she started the 6 block journey toward the clinical research facility where she had been moonlighting in her spare time for over a year. She’s spent many a morning, fresh off a night shift, headed to it.

Two blocks in and she sees a familiar yellow and blue awning stretching out from a slightly worn metal street cart. “Good morning, Micha.”

He pops out of the window, his goatee lurching and eyes crinking with his smile as he hands over a to go cup. “Good morning, Dr. Griffin. Two sugars. Just the way you like it.”

“Thank you, sir.” She returns his smile. Welcoming the levity on this dreary, exhausting morning. He has always been excitab;e but today he is extra cheery.

“What?” Clarke says, uncertain.

“You do not know?”

“Know what?”

Micha practically jumps out of the small window, leaning so far forward that Clarke is concerned for his safety.

“This!” He is pointing at an issue of the New York Times. A broad smile across his tan face.

“Micha, calm down.” She says moving forward, urging him back in the window with her body language.

“Dr. Griffin, you’re in the papers again!” He taps on the front cover so viciously that ink begins to rub off on the pads of his worn and calloused fingers.

Clarke had been in a few papers as a result of her ‘daring impromptu surgery’. Clarke had hated every second of her proverbial 15 minutes of fame. In her mind, she’d didn’t have a choice. Saving people was an absolute. Receiving fame for her acts was as silly as praising her for breathing. Earl’s health and full recovery had been reward enough. And when he expressed his gratitude in the form of 20 bouquets of roses delivered to the hospital and her apartment, it was heartwarming and humbling. It was a sweet gesture and the flowers annoyed Raven which was an added bonus. She didn’t need any thanks. She just wanted to save people.

It was on her first journey to research facility that she met Micha. She had stopped for a much needed second cup of coffee and he had recognized her. Practically shoved the paper in her face asking if it was her. He’d been her biggest fan and a wonderful ally ever since. And Clarke was grateful for the free cups of coffee he insisted on giving her. Because the long hours trudging back and forth from the hospital to the clinic to home and back had never become any easier over the last year. It required obsece amounts of caffeine.

He handed the paper to her. Clarke’s eyes widened involuntarily at the front page. There was her ex-professor, the woman that had come to help Clarke at Al’s, and director of the research institute that Clarke worked at, in all her regal glory. The headline hovered an inch above a page-covering picture of her ex-professor and current mentor: “Cutting-Edge break through at Manhattan Institute for Cancer Research.” Clarke knew her mentor had made great strides recently, but did not know that she would be generous enough to include Clarke in the credit. But there she was, a small picture in the corner next to the ostentatious spread. The caption read: “Director of the institute says she never would have thought of the new, less invasive technique without the aid of the Hardware Hero. The doctor (shown here) had only just started her internship when she saved a man’s life in a hardware store last year.” The picture was the same that had been circulated at the time. Clarke remembers exactly when it was taken.

**St. Luke’s Hospital**

**Summer 2013, 5 days after diving in**

**Earl’s room**

Clarke watches as the green line on the monitor crests and falls matching the steady electronic beat of the heart machine. The EEG goes off like clockwork and a fresh page of peaks and valleys, zigs and zags appears neatly in the printer tray. Clarke reads the pattern as she has done a dozen times since his arrival here. His brain is active and healthy. She sighs. She sighs every time. She is relieved every time.

“You are not his doctor.” A familiar lilting voice declares from the doorway.

Clarke looks over her shoulder and confirms that the voice does in fact belong to her ex-professor. The woman had come to her aid in the hardware store even though Clarke had not needed it. She again came to her aid when the chief of surgery wanted to give her a reprimand for her reckless behavior. The tall, experience doctor simply told the chief that it had to be done. “I know.” Clarke says quietly as she continues to care for Earl. Making sure he is comfortable and warm. “How are you doing, Professor? Dropping off more research data?”

She gives a curt nod in response. The woman pauses. A contemplative look on her face. “There are photographers here. They wish to document the bold blonde doctor they dubbed the Hardware Hero.”

“I know.” Clarke dropped her eye contact and moved to the other side of Earl’s bed. Her tone is understated and joyless. Clarke had avoided the fame as much as possible. Dodging any attempts at interviews.

The stately doctor with the salt-and-pepper hair stepped further into the room, a pensive twist to her brow. “Dr. Griffin. I am not quite sure what to make of you. You are a bit of an anomaly. Surgeons are well known for their egos. Even the interns.” Clarke and her professor had exchanged more words in the 5 days since she came to help her at Al’s hardware than they ever did when Clarke was in her class. They had struck up a sort of tentative rapport since the incident, but both lingered on the teacher/student dynamic. Neither one willing to cross the line into friendship.

“You care so much, yet you don’t care at all. Not about the things your peers might.” Out of the corner of her eye, Clarke sees the woman release her furrowed brow. Scanning the blonde up and down. “You prioritize the details that others do not. When others are fighting to scrub in on surgeries and scratching at every surface of this hospital hoping to etch their initials in somewhere. Hoping to make a name for themselves. You are here. You have the chance that others can only dream of due to your recent notoriety yet you remain here. With him. Just because.” Clarke feels the older woman scrutinizing her, the weighted appraisal, but she doesn’t care. She did what she believed was right and she would do it again. There is a sigh as the elder doctor finishes her thought. “It is wildly aberrant.”

“It’s the right thing to do.” Clarke says barely audibly, not looking up while she pulls earl’s sheets up over his chest, tucking them in securely.

“Oh.” A breath. Her eyes widen briefly. As the woman finally ascertains all that she had been trying to deduce about Clarke. “I see.” She put a strong hand on her shoulder.

Clarke suddenly got the strange feeling that her ex-professor could see right through her. “One photo, Dr. Griffin.”

Clarke began to shake her head.

“Trust me.” Her soon to be mentor said. “Give them this photo or they will steal the least flattering photo of you off your social media and put that in the paper.” She pulled Clarke into the hallway. “One photo. And then I have a offer you should probably refuse, but if you are anything like I think you are, you won’t be able to.”

**Lexington Ave**

**October 2014**

**2 blocks south of Micha’s cart**

She had been right. Clarke wasn’t able to refuse the chance to do cutting edge research in addition to being a surgical intern. Even if it was insanity. The more people she could save the better. Clarke basically gave up any semblance of a personal life. She still had her best friends. And the newest addition to that list. Alie.

Clarke’s instincts had been right about Alie. They weren’t meant to be anything more than friends even if Clarke very briefly had hoped for some romantic interlude. There was no chance for them. Not when Clarke, in addition to her time consuming internship, had been offered the opportunity of a life time 5 days after she met Alie. There was no moment for romance at the time. And that was ok. Given a choice between romance and the greater good, Clarke would always choose to change the world. But still the nagging voice persisted, Clarke felt she was meant to know Alie for some reason. There was an inkling of a reason the night she brought Alie back to the roof. Raven and Alie worked seamlessly together. Much like Alie had with Clarke when Earl was dying. But this was something else entirely. When it became apparent that Clarke would not be able to pursue a relationship of any kind with Alie, she assumed the two smartest people she knew would start dating. Their chemistry only grew with time. Not only did they build that pool, but every second that passed it seemed like Alie and raven shared the same mind. It was uncanny. But a year later neither of them budged. And still maintained they were friends.

Even if they couldn’t admit their feelings for each other, Clarke was glad Alie fit so seamlessly into the group. Because Clarke wasn’t around much for Raven. And Octavia was overseas a lot. The only people Clarke really spent time with anymore were her patients, attending doctors, and her ex-professor, the current director of the Manhattan Institute.

Clarke lifted the paper, juggling her coffee in her free hand, she couldn’t believe it. Adding another minute to her 15 minutes of fame had not been something Clarke had anticipated. And it was still undesirable, but she felt a swell of affection seeing her professor.

Her professor had been demanding, but incredibly gifted so Clarke followed her like she was charging into battle. Yes, she had given so much, but in the end it was worth it to find a new way to save people even if they still couldn’t save them all. She felt an over-whelming sense of gratitude and need to return the favor.

 **Clarke:** What do you get the person that handed you a once in a lifetime research opportunity 15 days into your internship and now more than a year later gives you credit? Sought you out and made you a part of making a difference in the world. How do you truly thank them?

 **Raven** : Your eternal gratitude.

 **Clarke:** She already has that. Now what?

 **Raven** : Maybe start with flowers? 1 bouquet of lilies ought to do it. Just 1.

Clarke chuckles remembering Raven’s reaction to Earl’s gratitude. Their apartment had looked like spring through up in it.

 **Raven** : Fuck, Clarke. Just 1 ok.

 **Clarke** : Relax, raven. I’m not getting her flowers. She doesn’t strike me as the flower type.

 **Raven** : Ok. But…

 **Raven** : Could you bring home the lilies anyway?

 **Clarke** : ?

 **Clarke** : But you said, and I quote “I never want to see another plant vagina in this house again.”

 **Raven** : jesusfuckingchristgriffin.

 **Raven** : They’re for Alie. We’re gonna go on a real date.

 **Clarke** : !!! About time

 **Raven** : You shut your goddamn pretty mouth and bring me some fresh plant vaginas for my lady. Hey I gotta go. My 8am class is starting soon and my students are idiots so they require a few minutes before for questions.

 **Clarke** : thumbs up emoji Have a great day. Try not to stress about idiots. Or your daaaate! Kissy face emoji

 **Raven:** middle finger emoji

Clarke put her phone back in her pocket, gave the newspaper and a dollar to a man sleeping on his cardboard bed, and continued her trek to the clinic. Nervous about all the ways she wanted to say thank you to her mentor.

**Manhattan Institute for Cancer Research**

**October 2014, 2:52 pm**

**The front lobby**

_Here she comes. It is time_. They’d managed to keep missing each other during their shift, but now her teacher, her mentor is barreling down the hall with her customary confidence. Superior in knowledge and achievement and Clarke is still in awe after all this time. Of the ways she carries herself. Of the way she demands attention. It left her with no free time and the work itself was exceptionally trying. But she sees her mentor coming and notes her stick straight spine. She never understood why her posture was so rigid. All the better to bear the weight of a thousand deaths. Clarke is not entirely sure why she took this opportunity. Yes, it gave her a chance to save people. But there was an unforeseen side effect. Not many of these patients could be saved. It wasn’t like being a surgeon where she could save more people than she killed. The long hours she could handle. It was amount of death that took a toll on Clarke. The people coming to the MICR were mostly terminal by the time they reached these doors. They came here looking for a miracle or waiting to die. And Clarke felt every death in her huge heart. After a year it was finally starting to get to her. She was grateful to her professor for including her, an intern at that time, the lowest rung on the medical hierarchy, in the research. The credit wasn’t necessary. But this opportunity. It had meant the world to Clark. That the director had actually followed through and then given her credit made Clarke’s heart feel a little lighter. They’d decreased the mortality rate by .94% Which didn’t seem like much, but to the 1 person in a 100 they saved, they were actually saving their family the pain too.

“Good afternoon, Professor.”

“Clarke. I am no longer your professor. It’s not like becoming president. And one is required to call the ex-incumbent Mr. President until the end of his days. Or Madam President if a woman ever achieves office. Once I stopped being your teacher that moniker became obsolete.”

“Well, you may not be my professor, but I haven’t stopped learning from you.” Clarke knew they were friends now, but she was trying to express her gratitude to a woman who was as equally adverse to praise as Clarke was.

The director of the institute gave Clarke an incredulous eye roll that rounded into a smile. “Shouldn’t you be headed to St Luke’s, Clarke?”

“Yes, after a brief encounter with my own bed and a flower delivery.”

A fond smile tugs at her mentor’s lips. “Fine, Clarke. Can you please take this data to Dr. Jackson in Oncology when you get there?”

“You got it.”

The taller woman nodded and prepared to turn, but Clarke seized her arm. Clarke put everything she felt in to her gaze.

“Don’t.” It was a simple request. And barely audible. But Clarke understood it fully. Clarke simply nodded. And her mentor smiled. “Text me when you deliver the results to Dr. Jackson. Have a good day, Clarke.”

“You too, Madam professor,” Clarke says. She waves with a spirited smile of her face and then pulls up the GPS on her phone. Hoping there is a flower shop nearby.

**3 rd ave and 94th st**

**2:58 pm**

**A flower shop**

Luckily she found one on her way to her subway station. Clarke had never walked this way before now. She’d always addled down Lexington to Micha’s cart and then turned left on to 92 st for a straight shot to the clinic. And reverse in the afternoon.

The smell of fresh bread wafts from the neighboring bakery as Clarke examines the hundreds of flowers. In every hue of red and pink and orange and yellow. The petals were vivid with life. These colors were grand and vibrant, but on this overcast day she felt them come alive. Crawl inside reside where her happiness was. Where she felt the happiness she deserved. She thought of Alie and Raven as she pulled a bouquet of orange lilies from their bucket to inspect them. She had worked hard over this last year. She never made time for herself. Her life was about her patients and friends. She hadn’t had a relationship casual or otherwise in over a year. She needed a little release.

The sounds of chairs scraping across concrete brings her attention to the bakery. Where a young man is straightening up the outdoor seating. He looks up from his duties and catches Clarke’s eye. She pays for the flowers and approaches him.

He is lean and handsome and harmless. He has an air about him that says “I’m here. And I’ll be good for you.” And that’s exactly what Clarke is looking for. Something simple with potential for something more. He smiles and slides another chair into place. His hair is the color of hot, black coffee. Underneath the locks sat two deep pools of maple syrup masquerading as eyes. They vibrated with effortlessly generated mirth. She licked her lips instinctually. And feels the mechanics beneath her breast plate tug and pull and push her in his direction. He looked up and their eyes met in a heated incorporation of yes, no, maybe. Clarke was not coy. And apparently neither was he. A gleaming smiled stretched across his face as she came to stand in front of him. Clarke watched as the lips ebbed over gleaming white teeth. He shifted his locks out of his face and took a step toward her.

“Hi. I’m Finn.”

“Clarke.”

After a few minutes of flirting, talking about his parents’ bakery, and discussing hot buns, Clarke found herself saving his contact information in her phone as she continued her journey to the subway station reaching Lexington Ave just across from Micha's cart. Just as she was about to put the phone in her pocket it buzzed. Clarke laughed thinking that the baker’s son was extremely bold calling her this soon.

Instead the caller ID displayed MOM, “Hi, Mom. What’s up?”

“Clarke.” There was a desperation in her mother’s voice that she was unaccustomed to. “Can you come home for a few days?”

“Why, mom? What’s wrong?”

Clarke listened intently as her mother relayed her father’s illness through choked sobs. Clarke knew. _Knew._ But when her mother said Stage 4 and Cancer, Clarke couldn’t help but drop to her feet. Tears stinging her eyes. She managed to whisper that she’d call her mother back in a few minutes as she registers thundering foot falls. She clutches the phone to her chest as a familiar arm snakes around her shoulder.

“Dr. Griffin. What is wrong?”

“Nothing, Micha.” She grimaced a smile in his direction. “I guess I just need another cup of coffee.”

He looked at her with wary eyes, uncertain but walks the few feet back to his cart. Watching her carefully as he drops two packets of sugar into a cup.

Clarke knew what she had to do. One favor she could call in.

She searches her contacts for her professor and mentor. The Director of the prestigious Manhattan Institute for Cancer Research. And presses the button. Her father would need a miracle. And being a patient there is as close as anyone would come to getting one. Clarke had worked at the institute long enough to know that this was their only shot.

The phone rang 3 times. “Clarke?” The line is silent for a beat as Clarke gathers herself.

 

 

“Dr. Bateau?” Her voice is still shaky with grief. "I need you."

 

 

 

“Clarke, please call me Luna. Now, tell me what’s wrong.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Click here to TUMBLE](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/paintthebrain) with me.
> 
>   * Behind the scenes: :) Keeping that reveal to myself has been really hard. We're on the homestretch now! Should be less than 10 chapters until Clexa! But our ladies still have some lessons to learn and trials to endure. :(
>   * Fun Fact: I’m an Aunt! My nephew was born this past Monday!
>   * For further discussion: Where is everyone from? I live in Pennsylvania.
>   * If you wish to speculate what’s going to happen in future chapters, please make sure the first word you write in the comments is SPOILER. Thank you! Also! Thank you guys for being here for this. You are all so ridiculously wonderful. You make me so happy.
>   * Special thanks to the Doc for being able to calm my perfectionist ways.
> 



	17. The Commander and the Coalition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Brief mentions of child abuse.  
> Little baby ice cubes of angst.

**Manhattan, NY**

**June 2010**

**A stoplight at Broadway and Canal**

The war isn’t over.

Lexa tightens her grip on the steering wheel feeling the leather groan as it gives with the pressure. The street is awash in red, green, and orange tints. The steam rising from the sewer vents gathers the unnatural light in a kaleidoscope of vapor. Covering the streets with a prismatic haze. Her focus shifts to the stoplight in front of her. Red. Her eyes shift to the other light at the intersection. Still green. And she hears the tiny click, click, click of her turn signal. _You don’t need to turn here. You don’t live there anymore._

It was little moments like these that let Lexa know that the battle between her two contentious organs still waged on. Heart. And Head. Lexa. And the Commander. They still don’t agree on much. Just Artigas. And her family. Her people.

Her heart is still healing from years of being starved. Her head. Well her head doesn’t like it when the rules change.

Costia.

That had been a truce. A stalemate. A temporary agreement to create a means to an end.

The break up was the right thing to do, but that doesn’t stop the conflict as Lexa rebuilds. It wasn’t Costia she missed. It was the consistency. Her mind missed the procedure. It was hesitant to relinquish all the information it had acquired during the course of their relationship. The specific ways of interacting. Make a left on your way home from work. Always bring home vanilla creamer because Costia went through it like water. Touch this. Don’t touch that. Say this not that. Be this. Be this. Be this. Don’t be that. Now all of that knowledge was completely useless. Yes, the hardest part was not getting her mind and heart to agree on what had to be done. But undoing that. Undoing the relationship. Letting go of her way of life.

Her heart is not broken. Just a little sore from the years of crashing into the walls of its prison. And though it is not truly free just yet it at least has found its voice. If anything it was her head that felt the biggest blow. Straining to find the same peace that it’s counterpart now has.

It begins to find comfort in the predictability of work. The challenge. The problems to solve. Law school is completed. The BAR exam is passed. She is a licensed social worker as well. All 13 offices of the coalition are running efficiently with enough funding to keep them going as they are indefinitely. Titus remains a constant presence – signing checks, advising her in expansion, and dressing up in various costumes for his own personal enjoyment.

Artigas committed to joining Lexa’s vision while at their grad school commencement ceremony. Gustus had just finished taking a picture of them in their gowns, caps stick straight, ropes and ribbons dangling from their shoulders signifying Lexa being the top her law class. She was also had the highest honors in social work. Artigas had the second. He turned to her and said, “Hey, dumdum. When are you going to ask me to join the coalition?” She had planned on asking him that night after the celebratory dinner.

Lexa still registers the click, click, click of the turn signal. _You live with Anya again. You don’t need to turn here anymore._ She releases her grip with a sigh and silences the turn signal. The car lurches forward as the light finally changes.

She doesn’t like it when the rules change. So she finds a different kind of predictability and buries herself in work.

 

**Manhattan, NY**

**Late July 2014**

**Infinity Coalition Headquarters**

The walls of her office are a brilliant, immaculate white. A smattering of framed letters in every kind of childish scrawl break up the blinding pristine monotony as they hang in several off-kilter angles. The desk is a rich mahogany, a personal gift from Titus. It is the most lavish part of the room. It looks out of place among the practical carpet and cheap but sturdy shelving lined with books on every professional subject that Lexa might ever need to help her people, her kids. More framed newspaper clippings about the effectiveness of her organization stand like sentinels on the bookcase behind her. Their success stories. Kids that have graduated from the program and gone on to college. There are small knick knacks betraying her interests lining her desks – a two-faced god done in classical Grecian style, a small glass squid, a collection of miniature non-projectile weaponry.

The light drips in from the window. Midday light filled with particles of the past and still promising a potential for more to come. Lexa’s fingers dance proficiently across her keyboard as she sorts through emails. Referrals she needs to approve. Office repairs needed in different cities. Programs that want more funding. All offices had what they needed, but not enough money for what they wanted.

Titus storms into the room, almost as if he heard a cash register ring and he knows he’ll have to pay out. Deep grey robes flowing behind him. Titus had more costumes than Lexa could ever count.

She smiles at him. “Monk?”

“Old guard. San Diego Comicon’s coming up. Just checking the fit and form. And I wanted your opinion. Too much. Not enough?” He turns side to side.

She’s about to give him a thumbs up when Artigas saunters into the room. “Yea, work that shit, Titus. Let me see your super model stomp.” Titus scoffs, but throws his hip out for dramatic flair. “Looking good.”

Lexa watches the exchanges with a happy curl to her lips. “What brings you hear, Titus? You already distributed the funding this month.” Art pats him on the back as he strides past to Lexa’s desk, dropping a thin file folder on it.

A sharp static, tearing fills the room as Titus separates the Velcro fasteners on his costume. “I have some excellent news.” He steps out of the robes to reveal a sharply tailored suit with a purple tie. “We have two new backers if you are interested.”

Lexa and the commander are both pleased with this information. Her heart is flooded and her mind swims with possibilities. “We can open offices in more cities. We can give our employees bonuses.” Her tone is reverent and grateful.

Titus smiles as he folds up his costume and tucks it under his arm. “There’s time to figure out what do with the extra money. We can gather the ambassadors and see what they have to say.”

Artigas sees the wistful look on Lexa’s face and takes that as his cue to give Lexa some much needed time to process. “I’ll set the meeting up. How’s October sound?” She nods. He articulates his fingers in a spirited wave good bye and wraps the other arm around Titus’s shoulder. As they walk out of the room Lexa hears him say “You know, I think your costume would look even more badass with some head tattoos.” He turns back to her and mouths _“read that”_ pointing at the file in front of her. Titus’ laughter echoes as the door shuts behind them.

Lexa lets out a long wavering sigh. One that is a trademark expression of her combined relief and joy and pride. All of the hard work and sacrifice are bringing her vision to fruition. The Commander. The visionary. Pushing toward a better future for her people. Every child will have a chance.

Lexa puts her head in her hands and allows herself a moment to feel. Everything. But the alerts begin to chime again from every electronic device she owns. She takes a deep breath (one she hopes will end in that trademark sigh at some point in the future) and puts her heart away burying her mind in her work. Clicking the mouse to pull up the new requests, simultaneously grabbing for the file folder. While her inbox refreshes she cracks open the manila folder. She reads two lines and immediately picks up the phone to call the Detroit office.

 

**Detroit, Michigan**

**Early August 2014**

**Infinity Coalition Offices**

Lexa stands outside of the playroom. All other children have been moved to another location. The Detroit Office Ambassador looks from the room to Lexa with a mixture of fear and frustration. There are soft thuds interspersed with loud crashes and yelling from a high octave only a child could produce. All coming from behind the sturdy wooden door.

“You didn’t have to come. We just don’t know what else to do. She is too destructive and aggressive. We have to let her go. I’m sorry.”

Lexa’s eyes flare just a bit, but her anger is large in her heart. “Sorry is not good enough. What have you tried?”

“Everything.”

Those words. I’m sorry. Everything. Those words in close succession to each other leaves Lexa’s heart beating against her sternum like a wild gorilla. She subconsciously clenches her jaw and she is sure that the fury is fully realized in her eyes now. A fact confirmed by the man’s flinch when her eyes meet his.

Her voice is cold. “Obviously you have not tried everything otherwise she wouldn’t be terrorizing you and your program like a rogue assassin.” She places her hand on the door knob and turns it. As the heavy door creaks open she sees the disaster before her.

The program assistants, called seconds, are cowered in various corners of the playroom. One is standing behind a child sized plastic play house. Others are holding foam shields. Just about every toy has been removed from their color coated bins. Some are lying in pieces.

The girl is sitting with her back to Lexa. Barbie doll heads strewn all around her.

The ambassador is standing triumphantly behind her. “See? I told you.”

Lexa resists the urge to fire him right there. “Leave us.” Perhaps she will make an example of him later.

 

**JFK Airport**

**2 days later**

**Outside the terminal**

A line of cabs stacked end to end sit idly as Lexa embraces Artigas.

“How was your flight?” He says opening the door of one of the cabs and waiting for her to get in.

“Fine.”

He can sense Lexa’s tension, but for some reason he had been handed the proverbial knife that could always cut through it. “Are you a member of the mile-high club yet?”

Lexa lets out a breathy laugh, “No.” But let’s the silence permeate shortly after.

Art tries once more. Tentatively. Pulling slowly at the threads. “That girl.”

“Ontari.”

“What will happen to her?”

Lexa is at a loss. If Ontari’s behavior remains unsafe, Lexa has no choice but to protect her staff and other students. She understood where the Detroit ambassador was coming from, but still she had felt like kicking him out a window at the time.

“What about her foster home?”

“No one will take her.” Lexa says as she shifts in her seat.

“So where is she living?”

“In a residential facility.”

Lexa knew all about those. It was where people sent kids they had given up on. Or couldn’t help. It was filled with therapists and behavior interventionist, designed to help a child with Ontari’s maladaptive behaviors. They heard about how the coalition is helping children. They thought it might be beneficial. But Lexa suspects they just needed a break from Ontari so they referred her to the coalition. They had downplayed the severity of her behaviors.

She is torn. Torn between what is right for one girl and what is right for all of the members of the Detroit branch. The dichotomy and worry must be evident on her face because Art links his arm through hers as he has done so often throughout the course of their friendship. He lays his head on her shoulder. “It’s okay to not know what to do. To not have a plan.” He rolls his head on her shoulder so that he can look out the window.

“Are there other cases like hers across the coalition?” Lexa asks avoiding the sentiment.

“I'm not sure.”

“Have we committed the new income Titus acquired to anything yet?”

Artigas shrugs.

“I want to tour the cities. Have the ambassadors come up with one or two of their participants that have the hardest upbringing. The ones that are not likely to succeed in life. I want to meet them.”

“Lexa, stop. You don’t always have to keep moving forward. You are allowed time to regroup.”

“I will leave in two days.”

“Lexa!” He has turned to her. His obsidian eyes cutting through her toughest armor his hand holding her chin in place. “You are allowed to feel bad about this.” She glances away because she cannot take the severity of his concern. Her jowls flex involuntary and he brings his thumb up to sooth the tension in the muscles there. “You think the Commander is the strongest part of you.”

She relaxes into the touch. Allowing herself a moment to feel for Ontari. To feel sad about the stories she has heard about some of the children that come through the coalition. But only a moment. Sadness leads to pity. Pity leads to inaction.

“You are wrong, Lexa.” Art says with finality as he adjusts his seatbelt. When he is satisfied with its position, he takes his hand in hers and resigns himself with a sigh. “I’ll email the ambassadors. Ask Titus to allocate some funding for this tour of sorts. But you are taking these two days off before you go.”

Lexa gives him a pert nod. A wisp of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

 

**Fresno, California**

**2 days later**

**Infinity Coalition Offices**

Her name is Racheal. She is 9. Her mother works 4 jobs to support the family. Racheal’s brothers and sisters do the best they can to support the raising of their youngest family member, but they all have lives, jobs, distractions of their own. Her grades are low. Her academic skills are lower. Lexa can see that she tries, but whatever anyone is seeking to provide is not enough.

 

**El Paso, Texas**

**Early September 2014**

**Infinity Coalition Offices**

His name is Hunter. He is 14. He had been sexually abused by his uncle for 7 years. No one knew. The public school system dubbed him a trouble maker and gave up on him. He was referred to the coalition by his court-appointed therapist.

 

**Memphis, Tennessee**

**Mid-September 2014**

**Infinity Coalition Offices**

Their names are Tris and Michael. She is 8 and he is 9. Their parents are abusive drug addicts. They were referred to the coalition by the police department.

 

**Baltimore, MD**

**Late September 2014**

**Infinity Coalition Offices**

His name is Aden. He is 7.

He sits quietly in the corner. He seems harmless. Lexa turns to the Ambassador with a stern eye brow raised. “Why do you wish to dismiss him from the program?”

“We can’t make any progress with him, Ms. Woods. He doesn’t speak.”

She could ask them what he tried. But it would be the same response as every other office with a problematic child she has visited. Everything.

Lexa looks through Aden’s case notes. He was referred by his group home. There is documentation from a public school speech therapist: "detrimental speech impediment, hearing is fine, has the capabilities of speech, but can’t quite form words. Stopped talking altogether 2 years ago." Lexa flips the page and sees the foster care record. There were several different types of hand-writing signifying that Aden has been passed around through many social workers and placements. The first entry is in a particularly loopy script: “Father shot. Subject witnessed it. Placement confirmed. Age 5.”

No one had put the pieces together. What Lexa suspects is the cause of his reluctance to speak. Or if they did they didn’t think it pertinent in his treatment. Lexa’s heart sank in her chest. But she turned her mind to the task at hand. She knows what she wants to do with these children.

“I’ll see you at the meeting at headquarters next month, Mr. Atreyu.” And handed him back the file before leaving.

 

**Infinity Coalition Headquarters**

**Early October 2014**

**The Ambassadors Meeting**

There is not a doubt in her mind. She will get what she wants. She always gets what wants. A better life for her people.

The Ambassadors sit before her in the conference room. The idle chatter comes to an abrupt stop as she takes her place at the head of the table. Titus on one side. Artigas on the other.

The ambassador from Detroit is the first to speak. “What do you plan to do with the children we cannot help?”

“Help them.” Her tone is cool and decisive. “Every child deserves a chance. To some, we are their only one.” Her practiced oral skills have only grown since she gave that fateful speech 7 years ago. “You say you have tried everything. But that is not possible.”

A chilling buzz comes up from the assembled leaders. She stands. Willing the Commander to over throw this munity and assuage their fearful minds. She knows they are only trying to do what is right for their part of the coalition.

“I will bring them here. We will use the recently acquired funding to start a specialized school.”

Silence. “But what about the ancillary programs we want to start at our offices? Why waste resources on lost causes?” The Detroit ambassador is the first to speak. He is determined to make her look weak. She’s beginning to rethink not pushing him out a window. Her jaw clenches. She is seething.

“You are fired.” She is cold and calculated. Using the multitude of her senses to gauge the rest of the room. The rogue ambassador stands. His face reddening. In one swift motion he leaves, slamming the door behind him. She addresses the room with purposeful authority, “Anyone else care to question my decisions?”

“Good.”

 

**Ridgewood, Brooklyn**

**Late February 2016**

**Her office at the Natblida School**

Today is a big day. Lexa gathers all the brochures she needs for the convention. Last year was the first year Lexa had attended the international non-profit organization convention. The biggest in the world with over 300 organizations in attendance. She went to promote the school – named after Aden’s attempt at saying the nickname Titus had given all of the children she had brought here to learn. Nightbloods. He calls them that based off a line from her now infamous speech. “A metaphorical night determined by blood.”

Most of the Nightbloods are thriving. Aden is talking again. Mostly only to Ontari. But her mind is pleased with the progress regardless.

The convention had opened up other opportunities. Provided more funding. Recruited more ambassadors. Networking with other organizations to create the ancillary programs that the Coalition ambassadors desired for their individual programs.

Lexa picks up another stack of brochures and sees the biannual medical reports for all the Nightbloods, checkups. She subconsciously flips it open with one hand while the other hand places the pamphlets into her satchel. Ontari’s report is the first one on top. A sticky note from Art in all caps.

Lexa sinks into her chair.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Click here to TUMBLE](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/paintthebrain) with me.
> 
>   * Behind the scenes: Even though the Commander and the Coalition has been the official title since this chapter's inception, I sometimes affectionately refer to it as the Commander and the parade of teens and tots. Also, Titus was conceptualized for this fic long before canon started to air.
>   * Fun Fact: I think I fixed him on accident.
>   * For further discussion: I need more inspiration for Clexa milestones. So far I have their meeting(s), getting to know you, first date, first kiss, first vacay, and some other things written. What are some milestones in their relationship you’d like to see?
>   * The Doc is not just a nickname. She’s gonna be a real life doctor. For shizzle my dotizzle.
> 



	18. Clarke Griffin and the War on Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so. I’m sorry this came up in the publishing order now. I know some people are still hurting from the finale. So if you are not in the mood for feels or such I understand. Forgo this until you feel better. But if you’re going to read this, I suggest you read all Jake chapters again first. Oh and pay attention to the time and location tags, they are a little out of sequence.
> 
> Bugger me! 
> 
> ANGSTberg, right ahead!

 

**The Manhattan Institute for Cancer Research**

**Late October 2014**

**The Family Comfort Center (a waiting room)**

It’s not just a waiting room. It’s a war room. But instead of proposing military strategies to beat back a formidable foe, the warriors in this clinic are stuck planning a battle they can never win. When did Clarke become a soldier in this war? She had always been able to watch from afar as others waged against the onslaught of time. She had always thought of the minutes and seconds of her life as a right, not a privilege. She’d watched her patients, while remaining untainted by the real truth of this conflict. It never truly touching her. But now. Now the front lines had come right to her front door. Her father.

All this time. Years. YEARS. The tumor had been growing. Permeating the tissue. The malignant cells multiplying, dividing and conquering the healthy organ. Consuming and destroying. And she chose her career and strangers over time spent with her father. And that thought hung heavy in her heart.

The clock on the wall is mocking her. Never enough time. Time for the clinic. Time for the hospital. Time for Raven. Octavia. Finn. Eating. Sleeping. Not enough. And it’s pulling her apart. But now this concept of finite minutes is wrenching. Destructive. The absolute amount of time left. Time. Time. Time.

She had sat with dozens of families in this very room. Waiting with them. Watching them as they all put their lives on hold for their loved ones. Stopping. Remaining. Hoping to beat back the seconds with kisses, hugs, I love you’s.

 Memories. The only weapons left once time inevitably wins.

Clarke sits idly with her back to the floor to ceiling windows. The evening sun casting warm hues through the waiting room, contrasting with the pewter and hunter green and chocolate brown accents. Clarke had read several articles about the homeopathic effects of these specific colors. But she had never been sure of the true reason Dr. Bateau chose to adorn The Family Comfort Center in the colors of a forest at twilight until this very moment. It made her feel like there was a chance at a miracle, while simultaneously reminding her of the impending darkness.

Her father’s words from their conversation a week earlier ricochet around inside her head. _Sometimes we get our miracle, Clarke. And sometimes we lose._

The sharp snap of high heels on linoleum filters into her consciousness. Click. Clack. She’s heard the solid cadence of Luna’s heels more times than she can count. It had always been soothing. But this time. It is jarring. Reminding her of a different kind of steady rhythm. Tick. Tock.

A swarthy, imposing form covers her with a lithe shadow.

“Clarke.”

“Luna.”

“We’re ready for you.”

They walk back the way Luna had come. Reaching the exam room. Her father sitting on the bed, legs dangling. He didn’t look so different from the man she had always known and loved. Except now, at some fixed moment in the future he would descend into this illness. Luna handed Clarke the chart. She knew her way around the MICR specifically designed medical record and she knew exactly where to look for the information she needed. Diagnosis: Pancreatic Cancer. Prognosis: Terminal. She felt a strong support press to her lower back as she read the news. The stiff fabric of Luna’s lab coat scratching against Clarke’s.

“We’re going to fight, Clarke.” Her mother said through stuttered tears and broken syllables, grabbing her father’s hand. Their wedding rings clinking together softly.

Luna continues to hold Clarke gently. All pretenses of unwavering professionalism Dr. Bateau had exuded for most of their relationship had faded long before this moment. “All of us. Here together. I’ve made arrangements for your mother and father to move into an apartment a few blocks away. They can move out of the hotel once the super signs off on the lease.”

A sudden rush of all her memories in her childhood home comes tearing through her mind, putting a momentary quaver in her voice.. “Sorry, I just….what’s the course of treatment?” Clarke says looking at Luna.

“1 week on. 3 weeks off.” She pauses, releasing the embrace. “FUDR and Leurocvin through a mediport for four hours a day during the ‘On’ week. And a massive dose of inter-arterial chemo cocktail of Mitomycin and Cisplatin during one session that week.”

Luna turns to Jake, “He should experience minimal side-effects thanks to your daughter.” She turns again with a proud beam to Clarke. “The single dose of Mito and Cisplatin was her idea.”

Clarke says in a small humble voice, “The large dosage is still metabolized like 5 small doses. But it doesn’t affect the immune system causing all the side effects.” Clarke is just saying things now. Trying to make words come out of her mouth. Anything to avoid the feelings retching their way up from her heavy heart.

Luna knew. She had to. Clarke knew. They all knew on some level. It was written on her mother’s face. In the way Luna allowed affection in to her intonation. The way her father stroked his wedding ring and the scar on his hand.

Clarke wants to break, Clarke wants to rip open that pocket of sinew deep in her chest and let out the carcasses of the feelings she’s buried there. Because. No matter what they do it is a temporary fix. A way to extend his life by a couple of months. So Clarke does she what she does best, swallows her cocktail of emotions to spare everyone else.

“Yea, dad. We’re gonna fight.”

 

**The MICR**

**Mid November 2014**

**Treatment Room**

“What are you gonna do with your weeks off? See the empire state building? Get sushi in Chinatown?”

Jake gives his daughter a confident raised brow. “You know I hate sushi. And as an engineer slash architect, I got all I needed from the Empire state building in grad school.” He adjusts in his seat pulling down his shirt collar so Clarke can access the mediport. “I’ll probably pick up some pro bono projects around the city. Or maybe do some freelance consulting for any local firms that’ll have me.”

“Oh, is that all?” She says with a mild smirk and a quick look in his eyes as she finishes inserting the tube and checking to make sure the medicine has started to flow.

“And to spend time with you and your mother of course.” A wide grin cuts across his face.

The IV drips steadily into the mediport. Drip. Drip. Like seconds on the clock. Clarke looks up from her conversation with her father to meet kind blue eyes of a different hue. Almost grey. Nearly covered by limp lids and smile-forged wrinkles.

“Dr. Griffin!”

Clarke gives her father a quick pat on the hand as she stands to meet the owner of the grey eyes. “Good morning, Mrs. Busey. How is your treatment going?” If Clarke’s father wasn’t a patient here, she would say that Mrs. Busey is easily her favorite. 79 years old and still full of sass and vigor. Salt and honey. Vinegar and cloves. She walked around the clinic like she owns the place.

“Treatment is good. Putting a serious damper on my dating life though, but it should be over soon. Then you’ll only have to deal with me once a month for PET scans, Dr. Griffin.” She comes forward and hugs Clarke deeply and fully and lets her hand slip down the blonde’s waist until it finds the familiar convex of the buttocks and pinches. “I know I can be a literal pain in the ass.”

Clarke flushes at the idea of her father watching her being groped by a woman nearly 50 years her senior, but he just laughs. He in fact laughs so hard he sets off his monitor. Clarke quickly disarms the incessant beep while still engaging with Mrs. Busey. This is why Clarke stays on at the Clinic. The long hours. Watching people waste away. Because sometimes they get to live. “It’s better than last week’s pain in the neck. I still have a bruise.” She pulls her blonde hair across her shoulders to a reveal a pallid, barely there discoloration and throws a smile over her shoulder at her patient.

Mrs. Busey laughs heartily. “Sorry about that, hun. You do elicit a certain kind of enthusiasm in your patients.” She shrugs her shoulders and finds her seat turning her flirtations towards the orderly in charge of inserting her IV.

Clarke returns to her father’s side, a giant smile still plastered on his face, “They love you.” Clarke picks up his hand in hers. She loves the weight of it. It reminds her of all this times he has carried her. Made her feel stronger. Because as times passes these days. She feels weaker. He squeezes her hand, “We made the right choice Clarke. I know you don’t like that your childhood home belongs to someone else now. But we made the right choice.”

She cups his elbow, careful not to disturb the iv and wires and electrodes, and pulls it around her shoulders. Pulling him into a hug. “Everything is going to be ok,” she says as his watch chirps in her ear signifying the turning over to the next hour. Always marching on.

“Still my line, Clarke,” he whispers into her other ear she can feel his cheeks ball into a smile against her neck.

“What is?” She says taking in a deep breath, trying to memorize his smell.

He presses little circles into the nape of her neck. “Everything will be ok.”

Clarke feels the twin spears at the base of her throat. A tell-tale sign that tears are soon to follow. But Clarke knows. Knows she can’t. Not yet. She will later when she is alone in her bedroom or an on-call room. When Finn is sleeping. When Raven leaves for a Lecture. The seams will rip apart and she will bare her soul into the open room, but right now she needs this moment. Needs it to be unencumbered with stains and blotches. Because they have so few moments left. She needs him to feel love.

“I love you, Papabear.” Sending them both back to moments of her childhood.

“Love you, too, Little Bit. Forever, mmk?”

“Infinity.” She replies.

 

**Central Park**

**Early January 2015**

**The Meadows**  

“Only you would be able to have to hear super unfortunate news and start a relationship in the same month”. Raven says between barraging their opponents and ducking behind a tree. A sharp thwack resonates against the trunk of the tree protecting them.

“Over 2 months strong, yea,” Clarke says.

“Still going good then?”

“Dad get down!” She yells to a scrambling Jake trying to reach the next tree before Finn, Octavia, or her mother dowse him with a snowball. She turns back to Raven, “Yea, it’s been helpful to have him during this.”

Raven throws a perplexed eyebrow up just as an indicative whizzing reveals the trajectory of the snowball. It misses Clarkes head by a few inches. “He’s been good for me. There is that better? Less symptomatic of unhealthy coping?”

“No. I mean yes. I mean…We think you are managing this well. It’s just, you know, O and I worry, Clarke. You have a habit of shoving things down until you just can’t anymore. We want to make sure you are ok. We don’t want Finn to be a casualty of the shoving.”

Clarke laughs at Raven, “Trust me his shoving is anything but problematic.”

“I heard that!” Her father yells jovially

Clarke flushes beet red. So wrapped up in her embarrassment she doesn’t notice that Finn has flanked her from behind. He gently pats a lone snow ball onto the top her beanie and goes to scoop Clarke up into his arms from her hiding spot. “You look beautiful in the snow.” He says. Raven and Jake can’t resist the urge to pelt him with snow balls until Clarke stands up protectively. They both laugh heartily and return their attention to the other enemies. Giving her and Finn enough time for a chaste kiss.

“Glad you came?” She asks.

“Wouldn’t have missed it.”

Abby comes sneaking over one of the crests of the hill and says, “Truce.” Throwing her hands up. “I want to go check out the ice sculptures.”

**Central Park**

**15 minutes later**

**The Rambles**

Octavia and Raven walk arm in arm. Clarke can hear Octavia ask where Alie is, “Oh she said she’d join us later. She wanted to nail down the details about some event that’s like a month away.” Abby speaks fervently with Finn about his parent’s business. He informs her that he would like to go back to college someday.

That leaves Clarke and her dad to amble lazily down the snow covered paths.

“How are you feeling? That didn’t take too much out of you, did it?”

“I feel fine Clarke. A small stomach ache, but fine over all.” He gently pats at his waist. “So tell me about this Finn guy. Is he good enough for my little bit?”

Clarke chuckles through a slight notch of unease, “Yea, Dad. He’s good enough.” She can feel the air change around them. Clarke’s instinct getting the better of her. “It’s not working is it?”

“What? You and Finn?”

“No. The treatment.” She stops him in his tracks with a gentle hand on his wrist. An ice sculpture to the right of them stands in perfect symmetry, a 3-foot snowflake. “If the tumor is shrinking, your stomach ache should have gone away by now.”

He side-eyes the rest of the group. “Everything is g…..”

“If you say that everything is going to be ok and that this all some happy fucking miracle, I swear, Dad, I will smash that snowflake into a blended Frappuccino.” She sighs, trying to get her cocktail of emotions under control, her passion-fruit-punch as Raven calls it. She lays a soft hand on his shoulder “Just…Don’t lie to me ok.”

“I don’t want to lie. I just don’t want you to hurt either, Clarke. I’ve watched you your whole life. You think you are invincible. And for the most part, god, you are. You are so strong, but stuff like this. It changes people. I don’t want you to change, Clarke.”

“I’m fine.”

“Clarke, I know you. This will consume you. My absence. It will take over your life.”

“I don’t want to have this argument again. I’m fine,” she assures him. “I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t want you to just be fine. I want the world for you.”

 

**The MICR**

**Early March 2015**

**The Cafeteria**

 A chair screeches across the linoleum as it is pulled away from the table. Clarke doesn’t look up from the table as a figure sits down beside her. She already knows who it is even before she sees a cup of coffee placed in front of her. Clarke knows why she is here. This is their ritual. Another patient. Gone.

“I don’t know if can do this anymore.” Clarke runs a hand through her blonde tresses.

“Your father would murder me if I let you leave.” Luna says pulling her chair closer to the table. “That’s all he talks about during his treatments. How much you thrive here. How you belong here. I want you to finish your residency. But once you’re done I hope you will consider taking on a more permanent position here. I was going to offer that to you, even if your dad wasn’t so insistent.”

“What would you need with a neurosurgeon?”

“I don’t need a neurosurgeon, Clarke. I need you. Like your dad said, you belong here.”

Clarke takes a moment. She just doesn’t think she can handle the death anymore. She just doesn’t think she can take it. “I’m a healer, Luna. I want to heal people not watch them d…” She doesn’t finish. She’s resigned herself to a no. No more. No more death. She can’t do this anymore. “Why am I even here? I can’t save him. I can’t save anybody.” The words strangle her on the way out.

“We save some. You _are_ a healer, Clarke. But medicine is not the only way to mend others.” Luna shifts in her seat and takes a somber sip from her own coffee. “The hardware store was not the first time I noticed you. I watched you with your classmates and with patients. You are hard to miss. You are something of a miracle in medicine. You shouldn’t exist.”

She feels the blush creep across her ears. A red miasma across the cartilage. “I’m nothing special.”

“You are. And you don’t know it and that’s what makes you so special. What elevates you. Anyone worth their salt in our field looks down on the patient. Looks down on them and says I made you better. I fixed you. But when I saw you with that man. You put your career on the line to save him. Then afterward you cared for him just because you needed to. I knew. You looked at him like he fixed you. Like he gave _you_ a gift. You treat each patient like they are the miracle, Clarke.”

Luna scoots her chair closer and nudges Clarke with her shoulder. “That is why you are here.”

An allusion of a smile begins across Clarke’s lip, “I still have a year left in my residency. Mom says you offered her a job.”

“I offered her a consultation position. She’ll work here and with hospitals in all 5 of the boroughs. She seemed excited.” The shoulder nudge has turned into a full lean. Both women supporting each other. “As for you, Clarke. I’m here. Whatever you need. For your father. And for your future. If you feel that it is not here, I will understand. But you should know. I think you were born for this.” Luna’s tone is indulgent. A response to the bond between the two. “Same as me.”

Clarke shifts quickly. Pulling away so suddenly that Luna sways toward the space Clarke just occupied. Blue eyes search her mentor’s face. The down cast stare is the only clue. And then Clarke knows. The woman in front of her. The woman Clarke deems regal. And unflappable. And awe-inspiring. This woman. Has felt the same pain Clarke feels now. Has bent under the same weight that Clarke feels compressed by. And she is still standing. And she is solid.

Clarke takes Luna’s hand in hers. “Thank…”

Luna waves a hand up to stop her and begins to turn away, “Don’t, Clarke. Just…”

But Clarke can’t let it stop there. Not this time. “Luna.” She gently seizes the woman’s shoulder mid-turn, and guides her so they are face to face. “Thank you.”

Luna gives a curt nod and closes her eyes. The lids trembling with the effort to keep the tears at bay.

“Thank you for everything. For anything. For existing. Thank you.” Clarke pulls her in for a hug. A hug that is tight and enveloping and far more eloquent than any words she could ever say. As they release Luna swipes a single finger under each eye. Catching the rebel tears as Clarke unfolds from the embrace. “I will stay.”

Luna releases a dim laugh as she pushes the coffee across the stainless steel, “Well, good. Your father will be happy about that.”

 

**Annapolis, Maryland**

**Mid-October 2014**

**The Griffin Residence**

 The wondrous moments of her youth had slipped in quietly like the morning light through the bay window in their living room. Some became memories and some did not. And in this minute, with her childhood home in disarray, open boxes waiting on every conceivable surface, Clarke wishes to will them all back to life. To live every moment with her father one more time. If she could have them. Those vast tendrils of potential. Strings waiting to be woven into a braid. If she could have those moments back. She would not be so stupid this time. Stupid enough to think that she was invincible. Untouchable. Superior to the war that everyone loses. Stupid enough to think she might actually have infinity with him.

Sharp scratches of cardboard interrupt her thoughts. Her mother closes a box and carries it out to the truck. Clarke feels a stab. Somewhere in her chest. A grave she is digging in the sinew of her heart. She watches as the props in all her remembrances are packed away. To be moved to NY. Or sold. Donated. Put in storage. Until this is all over. The tangible parts of her memories gone.

Her father huffs as he sets down the plant that has stood at the top of the stairs for as long as Clarke can remember. Clarke feels a sudden rush of anger. Anger at this situation. At the injustice. At herself for moving away. For taking his presence in her life for granted. Angry that someday the memories of her father will become static. His fluid features becoming immobile in her mind. Reduced to staccato snapshots.

Jake smiles as he looks to his daughter. He sees the emotions written across her face. And stills before softly pushing forward. Knowing that she is close to breaking. Close to unleashing all the emotions that she tamps down. That she has always swallowed until she can’t anymore. “Do you remember your first date?”

Clarkes stands in silence for a beat, eyes shifting to the fern her father just brought down, “The study buddy you almost gave a panic attack to or the holiday dance?”

Clarke almost smiles when she sees her father wince at the memory of the boy with pteridophobia. “Still not my fault. He should have seen me. I was a full-grown man hiding behind a flimsy nearly see-through fern! How did he not see me?” They both chuckle. “Anyway, the dance, Clarke. Do you remember getting ready?”

“Yes. You were so nervous. More nervous than I was.”

“Oh man. I was so scared, Clarke. Not because of you. I trust you. I trust your instincts. It’s just so many things can go wrong. I used to beg time to stop. To keep you young and untouched and unburdened by those things. But I realized as you got older that I had nothing to fear.”

“You always find a way. In the direst of situations, you can see everything unfolding and you just find a way. Make miracles happen.” He moves to her, purposeful and tender. Trying to sooth the world of wounds threatening to overcome his daughter. The other girl of his dreams. “I’m gonna go to New York and I am gonna see this doctor, the greatest in the country according to you. We’re gonna redo the tests. And scans. And we’re gonna hope for our miracle.” He shrinks into her as they embrace. Her cheek on his chest. His chin on her head. “But I think we both know…”

She stops his words, because, yes, she does know, but she just not ready to accept it yet. She’s not ready to start the inevitable countdown to the end. She sets a barrier up. To keep those feelings down. Down. Beneath. She has a limit. And she’s so close right now. She feels a tear sneak out. And hopes her father doesn’t feel it on his shirt. “I just don’t understand why you have to get rid of the house.”

“I want to be in New York. It’s just a house.”

“Not to me.” She knows it’s coming. She knows that whatever she does now to try and stop it. The truth. The flood. Will not be enough.

“Clarke.” His tongue is attentive to the syllables. Trying to pull her back to shore. He sees it happening.

She is drowning.

“Do you want to die there?!”

It’s explosive. The words. The meaning. The truth they have been dancing around since she came home. The only sound is Clarke’s heaving sobs. He holds her and they sink to the floor.

He quietly formulates an answer to the question as Clarke’s breathing returns to normal.

“No, Clarke. I don’t want to die. At all. Your life is there.” He says tilting her chin up so he can look into eyes the same color as his. “Sometimes we get our miracle, Clarke. And sometimes we lose. You built a life in New York. And…” His tone brimming with emotion now. “Clarke, I’m not scared of dying. I’m scared that this will change you. It will change how you approach the world. You are a miracle. My miracle. I won’t let you put everything on hold. And watch you fade with me. I can’t.”

He sighs and holds her closer again. “Clarke, I don’t want to die. I want you to live.”

 

**The MICR**

**Early June 2015**

**The Pathway (A terminal care room)**

 It isn’t quick. But it isn’t gradual either. She saw it in the looseness of his skin. The purple scoops under his eyes. Little moments of recognizing the deterioration of his body. An unrelenting soft persistence. A pressure of gravity and mortality. An undeniable sense of the inevitable. But they fight anyway. And they will lose anyway.

Drip. Drip. The IV keeping pace with the infernal beat of her father’s watch. He is sleeping. His face turned away to the windows.

Clarke wraps her fingers around her father’s wrist and feels the cold rigid meal. A harrowing reminder. Tick. Tick. Tumbling into her eardrum like the incessant waves against the shoal. She couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t fathom a life without him. Knowing that they had so little time. She deftly moves her hand up his wrist and carefully, reverently splays her fingers across his palm. Begging each packet of nerves to imprint the exact texture, temperature, and give of his palm. The perfection. The flaws.

She feels the puckering of the scar there. The scar that started it all. Flesh carved and manipulated by glass. She knew the story. She had heard more times than she could count. It is legend amongst her family and friends.

She traces the unique pattern and feels the hand flex and come to life. He rounds his head and sleepy blue eyes light up with a smile. “Hello, Little Bit.”

“Heya, Papabear.” She is about to continue, but his eyes shift down to their joined hands. The little dance they do, but she can see it there in his eyes. The mirth in them is a wide broad flame, but the characteristic fight she’d seen there for so long is barely a spark. She knows.

“Clarke.”

“Dad.”

“It’s almost over.” He says it with clarity. Her father had always been the wisest man she had ever known. She supposes that she got her intuition from him.

“I know.” She shakes her head. Her eye lashes dampening with brackish droplets. “I know.” She continues to absentmindedly strokes his scar with her thumb. “I’m not….I’m not ready.”

“Clarke.” He swipes his own thumb across her knuckles. “We die a thousand times in our lives. Adversity. Changes us. Cuts. Bruises. Emotional and Physical. Sometimes, life makes marks on us we don’t ever intend to make. And it changes us.” He turns his hand over in hers. Showing her the scar. “Sometimes we lose, Clarke. I lost a lot of blood the day I got this. But without this I wouldn’t have you. I lost and I got my miracle.” His gaunt mouth pulled into a tight but genuine smile.

“You’ll get your miracle from this Clarke. One day. Just not today.”

The tears flowed freely from Clarke’s eyes. “I love you, Dad. I love you so much.” The words came out weak and cracked. Desperate.

“I love you, too. Just the way you are.” Jake can feel sleep creeping up on him, but he looks into his daughter’s blue eyes.

 

 

“Please, don’t let this change you.”

 

 

 

“Be strong, Clarke. Stay you.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

* * *

[Click here to TUMBLE](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/paintthebrain) with me.

  * Behind the scenes: This chapter was one of the few chapters that has been conceptualized and mostly written in its entirety since I started this fic. Some of the others include, but are not limited to: Oral Acclivity, Trouble with floorboards, 16 minutes of fame, the first 5 chapters, how Clexa meet...etc...I hope it didn't hurt too much.
  * Fun Fact: I probs drive the Doc crazy with "but what about" or "does this fit". She is an angel, guys. For reals. 
  * For further discussion: Alycia Debnam Carey 
  * Bonus: The next chapter is mostly fluff and Ontari being a little shit. And we'll be that much closer to Clexa.



As always, just a friendly reminder that you guys are the absolute best and I am so glad you are here.


	19. Lexa and the Nightbloods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa's heart gains some ground. With the help of a couple of misfits and some surprise guests. We find out the whole story of Lexa and Ontari's first meeting. Picks up right after The Commander and the Coalition.

**The Natblida School**

**February 2016**

**Outside the Art Room**

 Lexa gives one last clandestine look into the classroom before she tucks away the tear-stained papers into her satchel. She would stay. She would stay and hold Ontari. Spend the day playing operation or pointing at the bones on Cage McRib and having her guess them. Anything but going to this convention.

Ontari had made so much progress. And Aden too as a result of he and Ontari’s bond. She’s overcome so much in her 11 years.

Artigas walks up behind her as she wipes the salt from her cheeks. “You have to go, Lexa.” She steels herself. The convention was complicit in helping them get the school more funding last year.

“I know.” She feels overcome and hardly certain she will be able maintain any sort of mask of composure today. The commander is defeated. Lexa is heartbroken. She tries to create some sort of levity. Some sort of bubble of denial in which can rest quietly. Drift listlessly. Be vulnerable. Vulnerable was something she allowed herself to feel these days. She understood the value in it a little more now. Lexa had learned to let pieces of herself be seen by all parties in her life. Not just the chosen few. Gaining more resources at last year’s convention had been a powerful tool in convincing the ambassadors that the Natblida school was not a waste, but it was Lexa’s new found ability: Lexa – the bleeding heart, The Commander – the unchanging mind. The ability to combined them that had finally assuaged her mutinous ambassadors. She had learned that it takes both. This discovery allowed her to make headway with her stubborn employees and an even more stubborn Ontari. But now she just feels devastated. What was the point of revealing the parts of herself she had kept hidden if it just made her feel weak again?

Art’s obsidian eyes meet Lexa’s emerald ones. He looks at her the way he always has, like she is the biggest secret the world has to tell and he was told first. She smiles at him, pulling her satchel securely up her shoulder. “How dare you bring this to me on convention day,” she says with mock indignation.

He laughs. “The nerve, right?” He returns her smile giving her the reprieve, the banter he knows she so desperately needs. He steps forward and links his arm with hers. From their concealed position they can see directly into the classroom. Ontari is shaking her head side to side fervently. The teacher has pushed a piece of orange construction paper in front of Aden. Art and Lexa hear a polite but insisted declaration of green from Ontari as she points to Aden. His smile is a wisp of a curvature as orange paper in front of Aden is exchanged for green. Ontari beams back at him.

Art feels Lexa go rigid beside him. He takes a step down the hall. His suede soles stroking the polished linoleum. Lexa lets him pull her. His tone is soft and sincere. Almost reproachful. “I thought you would want to know.”

“You were right.” She serpentines her hand onto his bicep and pulls him in for a gentle hug. “Thank you.”

He holds her tighter. “It’s treatable. It’s highly treatable. Kids survive Leukemia all the time, Lexa.” She relaxes into the embrace. She pulls in a deep breath. Her satchel sliding down her shoulder, a tweed pendulum beside them. Tears sliding down her face, a confession of her weakness between them **.** “You are the strongest person I have ever met, Lexa.” A sigh. A dogged burden. Like gravity.  “ _Lexa._ Is the strongest person I have ever met.” It is everything she didn’t know she needed to hear.

Detroit Infinity Coalition

Late August 2014

The Playroom

 

She places her hand on the door knob and turns it. As the heavy door creaks open she sees the disaster before her.

The program assistants, called seconds, are cowered in various corners of the playroom. One is standing behind a child-sized plastic play house. Others are holding foam shields. Just about every toy has been removed from their color coated bins. Some are lying in pieces.

The girl is sitting with her back to Lexa. Barbie doll heads strewn all around her.

 “See? I told you.” The ambassador declares confidently.

 “Leave us.” Her tone bitter and pointed. _Everything._

The Seconds don’t have to be told twice as they exit the room. The ambassador shutting the door swiftly.

The silence is deafening. She knows this kind of silence. The end of chaos. Or the moment right before. Walls are fortified. Defenses deployed. Lexa remembers what this feels like. The girl touches her wrist lightly. Mumbling under her breath.

Lexa stands there trying to reason the best approach, trying to ascertain the most effective pursuit of her goal – to get to know this girl. To help this girl. In the moment it took for Lexa to decide, the girl had shifted her touch from her wrist to her head, trailing light strokes in varying directions as she continued speaking in a unique language that Lexa couldn’t quite discern.

Lexa softens her tone slightly. “Hello. My name is Lexa.” Simple. Usually effective.

 The little girl rounds her head in a sharp snap.  “Fuck you, Lexa.”

She didn’t expect to make progress right away, but Lexa has always been efficient in rationalizing her way through problems. Including rejection. She’s read Ontari’s file. She knows the damage that has been done. But she refuses to take pity on this girl. “What is your name?” She asks even though she already knows it.

The look on the tiny face is of sheer determination. She intends to hurt Lexa with her words. “Fuck you, you fucking fuck.”

But the Commander isn’t easily phased by these kinds of outbursts. “That is an odd name. Do you like it? Seems like a bit of a mouthful.”

She is standing now. Barbie doll heads gathered in her fist. Eyes piercing. Hatred flashing through them.

Lexa opens her mouth to comfort the girl once more. But before she can say anything she feels a barrage of soft thumps against her chest. Doll heads rebounding off her grey pant suit and to the floor.

“Out! Get out! Fuck you! Out! Leave me alone! You fucking bitchshitwhore!”

Lexa is not intimidated. This it’s not the first time she’s dealt with a difficult child. But it might be the first time that Lexa’s plan had not ended in some version of victory. Or at least a variation of the next step toward victory. This was stagnation. And Lexa’s heart hated that. Lexa can feel the girl’s armor. Layers and layers of it. Not unlike her own. And her heart rumbles in her chest.

Lexa endures 10 more minutes of being shouted and cursed at before she calls the Seconds back into the room. It stings.

The last time she’d felt this stuck. This unsure. Was Costia.

 

**Infinity Coalition – Detroit Offices**

**Late November 2014**

**The Gym**

Lexa sits on a bench nearly folded upon herself. The comfortable weight of her chin resting on her fist. Thinking.

The girl’s dark brown hair tumbles from her scalp in a temperamental waterfall as she releases all of the available sports equipment from its storage locker. Her nefarious glare positioned solely on Lexa as the balls leak all across the gym floor. But behind her eyes there is more. Distrust. Uncertainty. Vulnerability. It is a look Lexa has seen from her own eyes. Standing in the mirror. Debating her next move. Brushing her teeth and wondering if she could ever trust anyone enough to be who she really is.

Lexa has tried to dismantle every piece of Ontari’s armor over the last few months. Coming to visit the girl whenever there was a lull in Lexa’s responsibilities with the coalition. She has only received sass and spite as restitution for her patience. Stuck. She feels so stuck and uncertain of her next move. Of how to proceed. How to fix this. Maybe that ambassador that she’d fired had been right. This thought changes Lexa for a moment. Makes her feel completely out of her element. Makes her feel like someone she is not. That this waiting game could make her be someone she is not. And Lexa feels the guilt wash over her.

What if this is what Costia had felt like for the duration of their relationship? Costia stood outside Lexa’s walls, waiting patiently. Until it changed her. Made her into something she’d never been before she met Lexa. The siege of the walls Lexa put up to keep things in didn’t push Costia out like Ontari is trying to do. It pushed Costia over the edge into a different version of herself. Someone that could cope with the emotional distance of the person she loved but couldn’t quite leave.

However maladaptive the approach might be, Lexa and Ontari’s walls existed for different reasons, but the function was the same. Disassociation. It worked for Lexa. Costia never did get to see the sides of her she’d hidden. And it’s working for Ontari. Lexa still knows next to nothing about the girl except that she has an extensive collection of curse words and is very aggressive. Lexa wants to quit. Lexa never quits.

So she watches as the tiny frame of the tiny girl lurches and kicks a ball at her. Lexa calmly deflects it with the smallest of movements necessary. Barely stirring. Keeping a calm and unchanging authoritative demeanor.

The girl’s eyes narrow, questioningly.

She approaches Lexa with determination. Ball in hand. Lexa simply stares. Waiting.  Unflinching.

“Leave me alone, fucker,” she says before throwing the ball directly at Lexa’s face. Luckily her arm is not as powerful as her kick because Lexa’s counter move proves ineffective and the rubber ball forms a seam with her forehead, nose, and chin momentarily before it rebounds back to Ontari. The girl stands there with a mischievous grin accompanying her usual menacing glare.

Lexa’s chest puff defiantly as she feels her face redden from the impact.

“I will be here when you are ready, Ontari.” She is Lexa Woods. The Commander of the Coalition. This can only end one way. In victory.

Ontari is moving to pick up the returning ball when those words stop her tracks. She looks at Lexa with a mixture of confusion, hatred, and relief. It’s barely perceptible across her features. But Lexa knows what it is like to feel misunderstood. To feel the need to hide.

Lexa can fix her. Teach her how to survive in a world that doesn’t understand her.

No one has ever took the time. Given Ontari the space she needed. To trust. To grow into their relationship.

Lexa had not given Costia a chance. Had not allowed her to see what she needed to see in order to feel fully loved. She won’t make that mistake with anyone else. Her heart awakens with that proclamation.

Lexa just stands there as the balls come whizzing by her head. She will wait. Ontari’s walls are coming down whether she likes it or not.

 

**The Lower East Side**

**Mid December 2014**

**A restaurant**

The restaurant is filled with chattering and clinking. And the blinking of festive lights. Snowflakes and Santas and sleighs rest on every surface in the establishment. Waiters and waitresses have thrown on their best smiles for the holiday season. Hoping for a hefty tip. She picks at the scarf of a small plastic snowman that had been squeezed to one side of the table to make room for their meal. Conversation had been lively while they ate, but now Lexa is lost in thought about a discussion she’d had with Art and Titus about their plan for Ontari’s future. She looks up from the tiny felt covered replica of Frosty to find Gustus and Indra are staring at her. Anya has a knowing smile on her face.

“Sorry, did you say something?”

Gustus gives her the warm smile reserved only for the three women at the table. “I asked how the coalition is going? Anya told us you decided to start a school basically because of one girl.”

Lexa scoffed, because yes that’s true, and because she didn’t realize that was true until now. “We don’t have to talk about her. You are only here for the night.”

“This is important to you,” Indra says. “I can see something is weighing on your mind.”

“I just – I just don’t think I am getting through to her.”

“What is she like?”

“She is determined not to let anyone in. But there are these moments of clarity when she thinks no one is watching. And I can see that there is so much more to her than she wants people to believe there is.” And it occurs to Lexa right then just why she is so drawn to this little girl. The reason she was willing to ignore her ambassadors’ wants. Lexa had been trying to convince herself that it was because this little girl had no one, but now she can no longer deny there is little bit more to the truth. Ontari reminds Lexa of herself. Misunderstood. Hard and soft. So scared of being destroyed by those who don’t understand her.

“How long has it been?” Indra asks.

“A few months.”

Everyone at the table allows a small chuckle before they see the hurt in Lexa’s eyes.

Gustus swoops a heavy but a caring paw across the table to grasp his daughter hand.

“These things take as long as they take. You can’t put a timeline on them. You remember Anya’s story?”

“Yea I was a hellion. I terrorized the house for years.”

“How did you help her?” Lexa inquires seriously.

“Time. Patience.” Indra said. Her eyes raised remembering the years of Anya’s tirades. “So much patience.” She returns her eye contact to Lexa. “And you.”

Her father agrees. “You just have this way about you. When you don’t over think things, it’s relaxing, disarming, and enthralling. It worked for that one over there.” Lexa looks to where Gustus had gestured.

Anya laughs. “I’m confident this time won’t be any different. Show her who you really are. As many facets as you can. She’ll know if you’re holding back. So relax. Trust on all sides is key.” She can’t remember not ever trusting her family. She trusts Art. She trusts the way that he promises to always try to understand even if he doesn’t. Or Titus who proved himself of trustworthiness through his own quirkiness and reliability. And for the first time in a long she wonders why she trusts them. She knows she does, but _Why._ Because they have never given her a reason not to. Because they took the time to be trustworthy.

Oh.

The whole world had given Ontari reasons not to trust anybody.

Lexa has been so focused on the act of fixing her that she forgot that sometimes all it takes is just being there. The only actions required are giving Ontari the space she needs to trust her and being open.

Lexa opens her mouth to speak when her phone chimes. “Sorry, just one second.”

“Take your time.” Gustus says. “Your mom and I will go pay the bill.”

She looks down at her phone and the air leaves her lungs.

Artigas Finch: I’m sorry to disturb your family outing, but I just got off the phone with Ontari’s residential placement.

Artigas Finch: They’ve emergency petitioned her. They said she was drawing disturbing pictures and she grew violent when they tried to stop her. They’re trying to put her in a psychiatric hospital, Lexa. The police are already on their way to take her. I’m pleading with them. But the administrators at the residential school aren’t budging. They said she is disturbed and it’s passed due.

“Fucking idiots.”

Lexa Woods: What kind of pictures?

Artigas Finch: They just said body parts.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear, baby sis.”

Lexa looks up for a brief second, eyes blank. She hoped it wouldn’t come to this.

Lexa Woods: Okay. We’ll just have to start the process we talked about sooner than we thought. Call Titus and head to the office. Start the 4-90C and I’ll meet you there as soon as I can. Call Michigan’s children and youth services. I’ll call New York’s as soon as I am done here. Make sure they know that the process will need to be expedited.

“What’s wrong?” Anya says seeing the look on Lexa’s face.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.”

“I know that look.” Anya says folding her napkin up and dropping it on the table. “What do you need?”

“Artigas’ old room”

“For?”

“Ontari.”

“Lexa.” Hesitant. She knows where this is going.

Lexa locks her phone and looks up at her big sister. “Please, Anya. I thought we had more time before it came to this. But they are trying to put her away. She’s just a little different. She’s doesn’t deserve the labels and monikers they’ve given her. I’ll just be a temporary guardianship. For a couple of months. Until we find a property for the school and the dorms are built. She’ll come with me to work during the day for private tutoring. You won’t be obligated to do anything.”

 “Fine, Lexa. I know how important this is to you, but just remember the only child I have ever been good with is you.”

The Village

Early January 2015

Lexa and Anya’s Apartment

 

Before she even opens the door she hears the shouting.

She steps over the threshold into the apartment. The floors, walls, and ceiling look like a Jackson Pollock painting.

Both Anya and Ontari are red in the face. Lexa can see the tears that the younger girl hides so well. It just a slight sheen.

They are still staring at each other when Lexa says “Ontari, go to your room.”

She stomps down the hall and slams the door.

“I swear she does this just to piss me off.”

“Yes, Anya. That’s her thing. She is testing you. You probably don’t remember what it is like not to be able to trust anyone. This is the only way she knows how to filter people out.” She continues to survey the damage. “What happened?”

“I was helping her make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.” Anya runs her fingers through her golden curls streaking peanut butter through it and pulls her button-up away from her body as a blob of jelly drips slowly down the front. “Well, I got the supplies out because she insisted on doing it herself. She accidentally dropped the butter knife. The next thing I know she’s spraying every condiment she can find across the room, screaming like a banshee.”

Anya sighs. “You’re right I don’t remember what is was like to be a tiny bomb waiting to blow. Mom, said I would lose my shit at the most insignificant things. I didn’t trust that things would work out. And maybe that’s part of it. I’m sorry I lost my patience this time. I’ll do better. But. There’s so much more going on here than distrust, Lexa. Her outbursts are driven by something other than just fear of the unknown. That’s just one part of it.”

“I know. This can’t be easy for you. I think we found a property for the school. We’ll start the dorms first.” Lexa sighs.

“Well, that’s good news. But she can stay as long as she needs, Lex.” Anya pats her sisters shoulder tenderly leaving a film of peanut butter on her blazer. “Gonna try to tame the beast?”

“Yea, she’s probably scared.”

Lexa removes her ruined blazer, dropping it on the doorknob to her own room, and wanders further down the hall. She knocks lightly on the door to Ontari’s room. A rabid scream pierces through the wood like an arrow. Lexa opens the door anyway.

The room is much like Lexa expected it to be. Bed sheets torn off the bed. Toys and books slumped against every wall. Their final resting place after being hurtled. Ontari’s eyes are black in the darkness. Lexa turns on the light with a flick of the wrist.

Those tiny eyes look up. Tears are falling from them freely.

“What happened, Ontari?”

“She’s a fucking bitch!”

“She told me her side, but I want to hear what you think happened. Maybe she misunderstood. Maybe you can prove her wrong.”

This seemed to ignite something in Ontari. A challenge. It is the most open Lexa has ever seen her. A different kind of fire in her eyes.

“I was making my sandwich. That stupid fucking dipshit whore asked me if I wanted strawberry or grape jelly and I lost focus. I dropped the knife. She made me drop the knife. She wanted me to drop the knife.”

“Ok. I bet it’s really frustrating to feel like someone is trying to manipulate you. But do you think that maybe there is a small chance. A tiny little possibility. That Anya only wanted to know what flavor you prefer and nothing else?”

Ontari hesitates. It’s almost like it never occurred to her that any adult actually cared about her preferences of things. There is an openness in her eyes that gives Lexa hope. “Maybe.”

“Do you not like choices?”

“I’m not used to them,” Ontari says with complete sincerity.

Lexa startles. She knows her story. The tyrant mother. Kept in the house until she was discovered by social services. “Oh. Do you want us to give you less choices? Would that be less overwhelming?”

“No.”

“So is having to decide for yourself what made you upset?”

“No.” Lexa is holding her breath because this is the farthest they have ever gotten.

“Do you know what made you upset?”

“I want to be alone now, Lexa.”

And it’s the first time she’s heard her name from Ontari’s mouth without a string of obscenities attached to it so she obliges quickly.

“I’m here. Not too far. Okay?” Lexa says with a smile as she stands and moves to the door. She swears she can see Ontari’s lip curl up slightly. But it’s gone in a flash as the girl touches her wrist poking at it, murmuring to herself.

 

**Infinity Coalition Headquarters**

**Mid-January 2015**

**A classroom**

 Ontari had just finished her tutoring session. Well, something like it. The teacher presented the information. And Ontari did her best to get her to leave the room with curse words. To the teacher’s credit she had lasted the whole session. And has only left the room at this moment to obtain supplies for the next lesson.

Ontari allows Lexa to be in the same room with her now. It isn’t much progress but it’s enough. Ontari still throws out an occasional fuck you but mostly they just sit together quietly, with an occasional comment from Lexa. She is trying to share pieces of herself with Ontari. To lead by example and be more open. She tells her random facts occasionally. Small stories about herself. It seems to be enough to give Ontari room to let Lexa in even it’s just a little.

Lexa is sitting at the table with her. This is the first time she has let her be this close. Lexa wants to sit next to her and draw with her, but she knows they are not there yet. Ontari has pilfered a dozen pieces of blank paper from somewhere. Some of them have received a single mark and then discarded. She has the crayon clutched in her hand, pressing down into the blank, virgin sheet with an intense amount of force.

Lexa is sitting across from her idly looking over proposals. She sorts through pictures of properties for the new school, each more decrepit than the last. She moves on to bids from contractors for each of the properties. Even with the new backers they won’t have enough. She could cut funding from other programs, but somehow she doesn’t think that will go over well. She looks at a brochure for a convention for non-profit organizations that Titus had given her stating that it would be filled with rich investors looking for a tax break. But acquiring just one of those rich investors would probably be difficult. At least Titus had managed to find them an engineer willing to work for free.

Lexa glances up to see that Ontari has loosened her grip on the crayon. A small smile tugging at her lips. She places a finishing touch on the small, weird shapes littered across the page. She begins to draw a new shape. Her tongue sticking out in concentration. But the crayon slips. There is a moment of shock before the rage begins. All the crayons are snapped. The table is flipped sending the drawings and Lexa’s paperwork flying. Lexa moves away from the upturn table quickly. Ontari locks eyes with her and is running at her with fists balled up. This is not the first time Ontari has tried to hit her.

This is the first time Lexa catches the fist with her hand. When the other one comes predictably flying upward at her face she catches that one too. Lexa feels instinct kick in. And for once in a really long time she doesn’t over think things. With tiny hands twisting and writhing in her own, she doesn’t stop the urge to pull. She tugs little arms around her chest and behind her back. She holds them in place against her body with her own arms and hugs her. “I’m here. No matter what you do or say. I’m here. I’m not leaving.”

Ontari screams. She pinches and pounds on Lexa even with restricted movement. Until she doesn’t. Until she is sobbing into Lexa’s shoulder, panting in microscopic whispers. “I have to get it right. I have to get it right. I have to get it right.”

Lexa looks down at the papers beside them. She recognizes those shapes. She knows she’s seen them before. But where? She looks to another paper and it all falls into place once one of the pages from her high school anatomy text book comes floating into her mind’s eye. Those little tiny shapes are a perfect rendering of each individual wrist bone save for the one small streak of yellow flying off to one side. In red crayon on the other page, is a perfectly drawn femur. They aren’t disturbing pictures. They’re facts. Information. A piece of Ontari. Something she loves.

This girl is very intelligent. Very misunderstood. Highly neglected. Abused. A perfectionist. And also perfect just the way she is.

Everyone had been trying to fix the girl. Instead of trying to see that she wasn’t broken. Just different.

Lexa puts her mental acumen and collection of knowledge to good use as she understands now why Ontari touches her wrist when she is upsets and speaks in tongues. It isn’t ramblings from a troubled mind. It is Latin.

Ontari has settled into the hug. She is not fighting it anymore. But she is still crying. Lexa inflects the softest of tones as she recites. “Capitate, lunate, trapezoid, trapezium, scaphoid…”

The small girl stops mid sob and pulls back and stares at Lexa. “You know the wrist bones?”

“I know a lot of things, Ontari.”

“Ok.” She says as she pulls away fully out of the embrace, but doesn’t move far.

“Ontari. Look at me. You can throw everything you got at me. I’m not going to leave you. If you need space, I will give it to you. But I won’t go far. Ok? You are perfect just the way you are. You don’t have to change” Lexa sighs as she lets her own hands fall to her sides. She looks into those dark smiles reassuringly. A promise. “I just need to know one thing, okay?” Lexa let’s her move away, but maintains eye contact, soft and open. “Do you want to feel this way? Angry all the time?”

“No.”

“Do you want to change that?”

“Yes.”

“Let me help you. I know a lot of things, Ontari.” Lexa wants to reach for her but thinks better of it.

“Ok.”

“You really don’t like making mistakes do you?”

The girl sighs, “I fucking hate it.”

Lexa swallows a laugh. So close.

 

**Ridgewood, Brooklyn**

**Late January 2015**

**A derelict building – future sight of the school**

 It’s so broken. Standing beneath the beams and expose brick, Lexa thinks maybe they made a mistake. They went with a cheap property because of the free labor they were getting from the engineer and because they could restructure it exactly to meet their needs. She hears a voice, “It’s got good bones, doesn’t it?”

Ontari flinches at the sound. She’s come a long way in the last few months, but she is still exceptionally anxious around strangers. Lexa puts a strong hand on her shoulder as the man walks up to them. He is rugged, intimidatingly so. His eyes are a perplexing mix of gaunt and kind. Haunted, but whole. And the deepest blue. “You must be the head of the coalition.” A smile erupts across his face as he crouches to the ground and raises his hand to the smaller of the two.

“High five,” he says enthusiastically. His hand completes it's journey into the air, a distinct gold watch sliding down his wrist.

Ontari burrows further into Lexa. Lexa tightens her reassuring grip. The man gives an encouraging wiggle of his hand in the air, the watch jingling with the movement. Ontari peers out at him caustiously from behind Lexa's pressed suit. Observing. Calculating the risks. 

“Ontari, he is going to turn this building into a school. You can trust him to help us.”

He continues to crouch, a warm smile still written across his face. One hand still raised while his other arm rests across his bowed knees. Lexa silently thanks Titus for having the foresight to inform all outside people on this project just what kind of school this is meant to be.

Ontari is cowering so far into Lexa, she fears they may become one body with two faces. So Lexa drops down to Ontari’s level as well. She holds her upper arms and squeezes as she quietly utters, “Humerus.” Lexa moves down to Ontari’s fore arms and gently applies pressure there as well. “Radius. Ulna.” Ontari’s eyes slowly rise up, filled with a mixture of distress and relief. Lexa reaches her hand and takes her index finger pressing each joint “Proximal, intermediate, distal”. She reaches the tip of the finger and grips it lightly raising it. She guides both of their hands towards the outstretched hand of the engineer. Ontari could pull away if she really wanted to. She doesn’t. When their hands are a couple inches away from the engineer’s, Ontari snaps it forward quickly, resulting in a resounding slap. “Hello.” She says when the smack of hand on hand stops reverberating off the decaying walls. “I want our school to have the best playground in the world.” She finally returns the kind man’s smile.

The blonde man chuckles as he stands. “Okay, but...” Another charming grin that glides itself into mask of playful seriousness. “Ontari, I need you to do something very important. No one else can do it. Not even my fancy engineering friends. Do you think you can help?” She nods cautiously. He pulls out a ledger and a pencil and hands to the girl. “I need you to draw it for me. Can you draw me the world’s best playground?” She eagerly grabs the pencil and paper and drops to the dusty floor. Tongue between her teeth. Brow furrowed in concentration as she puts her first mark on the page and promptly erases it. Lexa notes how far she has come because the act of making mistakes doesn’t reduce her to a baby hulk as much as it once did. And she said hello instead of fuck you to this stranger.

“You are good with children, sir.”

“I raised one, so I hope so. I presume you are the real head of the coalition then?”

“Yes, Lexa Woods. Nice to meet you.”

“Jake Griffin. Pleasure to meet you as well, Miss Woods.” He raises his eyes to the crumbling ceiling still smiling. “So tell me. What did you have in mind?”

Infinity Coalition Headquarter

Early February

Lexa’s office

 

The walls of Lexa’s office have several new editions. Framed drawings of perfect replicas of various organs and the human skeleton done in crayon. Lexa finds the contrast of Ontari’s clinical execution of human anatomy and the warm childish medium to be so revealing of who she really is. It warms Lexa’s heart in moments when her head is so very frustrated with other obstacles.

Lexa has just gotten off the phone with the ambassador from El Paso. It’s the fifth phone call of its kind today. They are still pushing back against her. She had sent them the blue prints and the mission statement for the school in an e-mail this morning. The dorms are almost finished with the help of Jake and his contacts. Turns out he was pretty well liked in the industry. Contractors had clamored for the chance to work with the man that had hand in creating quite a few buildings in his home base of DC. Sending lower and lower bids until it bottomed out. The money she saved she used to hire teachers and caregivers. But it still wasn’t enough to convince her ambassadors that this school was the right thing to do. All of them save for maybe two still seem to think this is a terrible idea. She is getting tired of fighting them. Her head is telling her it’s a losing battle. But her heart refuses to believe it. This school must be built. Will be built. Her cell phone rings again and she takes a deep breath preparing for the onslaught of questions from yet another ambassador.

“Lexa Woods,” she says with her trademark air of staunch authority

“Hey, baby sis. Wanna tell me why social services just dropped off a little blonde angel at our apartment?”

“Oh crap. I didn’t realize what time it was.”

“Lexa, I can probably guess what’s going on here, but what I am most concerned about is why they just left him with me. It seemed a little desperate. They didn’t check my credentials or anything.”

“The foster system in Baltimore is in turmoil right now. The police are cracking down on crime in low-income, crime-addled areas. There’s been a bunch of raids. Kids are being taken from their lawbreaking parents and thrust into the system. There aren’t enough beds. I filed for Aden’s agency and guardianship to be transferred to New York State shortly after what happened with Ontari. All of the kids coming to the school in fact. So when the dorms are setup they’ll already be in the system. Maryland services saw that he was on his way out anyway and asked if there was a way I could take over guardianship earlier. I meant to ask you but my ambassadors have me on edge. I forgot. I’m sorry, An.”

“It’s okay, Lexa. You don’t have to explain. This whole thing is stressful. But you are doing a good thing. Plus…well…I don’t think she’ll admit it, but Ontari is cooing over him in her own weird way.”

“How so?”

“She high-fived him.”

“What?”

“She walked up to him and put her hand out. When he shied away she put her hand next to his and said ‘high five’. He didn’t do anything just stared at her. I thought she was gonna lose her shit, but she just sat next to him took his hand gently in hers and slapped it playfully. Now they are just staring at each other.” She turns her mouth from the phone and asks the pair if their hungry. Lexa hears a soft yes from Ontari, but nothing else to indicate Aden’s answer. “The little blonde boy is staring at _me_ now. Lexa why is the little blonde boy staring at me?”

“Oh. Um. He doesn’t talk.”

“How does he communicate?”

“I’m not sure. His file says if he really needs something he just gets it himself or writes it down. Have a pen and paper ready. I’ll be home in an hour after I get another bed and traffic cooperates. And thanks, An.”

“Squids. Janus. Rare obsolete weapons. You’ve always been a fan of things that don’t quite fit the mold. Things just a little left of center, Lex. This isn’t any different. And I am happy to help.”

Lexa smiles as she hangs up the phone.

 

**Infinity Coalition Headquarters**

**Early March**

**A classroom**

 The past few months have been good for Lexa’s heart. She can feel it gaining more momentum in the endless contentious against her mind. Almost even in the decision making these days. At least with these two kids.

Lexa had done many things to prove to Ontari that their relationship is strong. Left anatomy books on Ontari’s night stand. Bought one of those life size model skeleton and ask Ontari to name it. After much debate the name Cage McRib was settle on. The other contender had been Cal C. Umandmarrow. Lexa spent endless hours drilling Ontari on the nomenclature and function of each bone. They then moved on to the ligaments.

Lexa even had the bright idea to purchase the game Operation when Ontari expressed an interest in not just anatomy, but medicine. It didn’t occur to her until they started the game just how jarring it might be for a perfectionist like Ontari. But she got the hang of it with a couple of soothing pats on the back from Aden and 2 broken chairs.

Aden’s presence in Ontari’s life had been the final key.

The two were nearly inseparable. Lexa would stand outside the door of their shared room sometimes. Ontari would talk nonstop for hours. But there would be a brief pause as a marker squeaked across a white board and Ontari would giggle at Aden’s commentary. The small portable whiteboard had been Ontari’s idea. She’d been the one to realize it was the most efficient way for him to communicate until he was ready or able to talk again. She was so patient with him. A patience that transcended into every moment. Her meltdowns became fewer and far between. When it did happen it didn’t last as long. But after that it was obvious that Ontari wanted to do better not just for herself, but for Aden as well.

Ontari opened up and shared her love of human anatomy and physiology with her and Aden. Lexa shared her interests in return. The ones few people knew about. The little secrets Lexa had always kept to herself, deemed to nerdy and awkward for public knowledge. Things like her favorite number is Pi. She’s always wanted to visit Gettysburg, PA because of the civil war history.

It was a circular relay of information and caring. Aden would chime in with a few of his favorite things: comic books and chapter books, carnivorous plants, and pirates – scribbled on the small whiteboard. Lexa hadn’t felt this happy and full and free in a long time. The exchange of knowledge. Acceptance. Trust. And understanding. On all sides.

Lexa had encouraged the teacher to include Aden’s and Ontari’s interests in the lessons in order to encourage rapport. It worked. They are finishing up an activity on the skeletal system that had started as a pirate story. The children are happily cutting out bones from worksheet in order to make their own life sized skeleton. A paper version of Cage McRib they can hang in their room. Ontari tongue is in her teeth as it always is when she is concentrating. Lexa watches the pair with affection and adoration in her eyes.

Lexa knows it is going to happen before it does. And there is nothing she can do to stop it. Ontari miscalculates her cut and ends up bisecting one of the bones into two unsalvageable pieces.

The next few second come in slow motion. The panic in Aden’s eyes. Lexa moving quickly to disarm Ontari before the instinct to throw the scissors can take over. She’s inches from Ontari, desperate to stop her when Aden stops them both.

“RESHOP!”

The rage is visibly coursing through the small girl. She is shaking, but there is shock and awe on her face. She has paused mid-throw, too stunned by Aden’s first word to do anything.

Determination and filling his features as he tries again.

“Reshaaps.”

He quickly picks up his whiteboard and scribbles down the word and flips it up to show her. R E L A X. He moves to her, tearful, but relieved. “Reshop, Omtar.” He puts his tiny hand on hers. Ontari releases her grip on the scissors and they fall to the floor.

Lexa had been in stunned silence for the duration of Aden’s first words, but the tears her eyes lull her into action and she picks up the scissors off the floor.

 

**Infinity Coalition Headquarters**

**Mid-March 2015**

**The conference room**

 Jake had just finish spreading the schematics across the conference room table. Lexa is sending an email on her phone to her ambassadors a frown on her face.

“You look stressed, Lexa.” He flips a page over and writes a note down. “I am an expert in what weight bearing looks like,” he says as he finishes writing and looks up at her with a small smile.

Lexa notices he is looking more hollow around the eyes. “No offense, Jake. But it is not any of your business.” She jests. Lexa really likes him. Ever since the beginning. He is warm and kind. There is just something about him that just made it so very easy to let him in. Not too much though. Just a little bit.

 He chuckles softly. “All due respect. But it kinda is my business. My literal business. I build and design structures for a living. I know when something needs more support. You can take my advice or not, but I’m going to give it to you anyway. You do good things for the world around you, Lexa. Let me return the compassion. Think of it as my own personal version of a public service announcement. One piece of the public at a time.” He says with a wink.

Lexa gives a swift nod, betraying nothing. A benign tilt to her lips.

“it is family, friends, or work?” Lexa’s eyes flash at the word work.

“Your….what do you call them….ambassadors? The ones that are coming to see the final blueprints today?”

Another nod.

“What’s the problem?”

“They don’t agree with my vision for the coalition.”

“What have you tried to get them to agree with you?”

Lexa starts to say everything. The words form in her throat, but die on her tongue.

“I see,” says Jake.

He unfolds a new set of blueprints as Ontari comes into the conference room clutching her newest creation and handful of crayons. It’s a page filled with numbers. “Aden and I researched the digits of Pi for you and put as many of them as we could on the page.” Lexa laughs and ruffles the girl’s hair, bending down to thank her. Ontari gives her a hug and walks down the length of the table and plops herself in a chair at the far side of the room. Adding more color to the numbers.

“You’re different with her,” Jake says. His hollow eyes gleaming with mirth. “Normally you are all business. And don’t get me wrong it’s very efficient. I wish all my client were as decisive as you. It’s strong and effective. But when it comes to certain aspects in life, it can appear a bit cold and heavy-handed. Like you’re keeping secrets.” Lexa thinks, yes my weakness.

“Do you have anyone else in your life like Ontari?”

“It’s a short list.”

“I am an engineer, Lexa. Structure and design has been my whole life. The more time I spend with you the more I realize just how wonderful you are. You are by far the most well-structured, designed version of a human I have ever seen. You are all form and function. Especially with your ambassadors. You are all angles and strategy and deliberate facial expressions but with Ontari you are soft edges and rounded corners. And I like to think maybe a beveled edge with me?" He inquires playfully, seeing a gleam of affection in Lexa's eyes he is satisfied that his caring is returned. "Still. I can constantly feel you thinking. Planning your next move. But with her you don’t think. You don't plan. You just feel. You just react. And it’s just such an interesting system to watch unfold. “

“I see how your ambassadors try to push and pull you in ways you don’t want to go. So you have these walls up. Walls that show your strength, but cover the weaknesses.”

“I don’t know Ontari’s story but I know that whatever walls you tore down for her, have made her stronger. Have made you stronger. Show your ambassadors that. And nothing can stop you.”

“You may not heed, my expert advice, but let me tell you about the family business. My wife and daughter are both doctor’s. Experts in the human body. Nearly perfect structural engineering courtesy of evolution.”

“The brain for example. It’s this soft delicate squishy thing. It’s very sensitive to changes and rather temperamental. The slightest influx of foreign material or lack of necessary ones will send it into a frenzy. Which is probably why it is protected by a myriad of defenses. The cranium. One of the most indestructible bones in the entire body. The blood brain barrier. Super selective designed to keep one your most vital organs running efficiently.”

“The heart on the other hand, the other most vital organ your body, is only protected by the rib cage. The bones around are sturdy, yes, but so much can go wrong. So many ways to puncture or push through. The heart is barely guarded. Which is probably why the organ itself is naturally more resilient than the brain. So why did nature give the brain a fortress and the heart a mere fence to protect it? Because the heart’s job is to expand and contract. It needs the room. If the brain swells inside it’s lonely fortress, it dies. It’s not meant to grow beyond its limitations. And the heart dies with it. So which is more important – the head or the heart?” He smiles that smile Lexa has grown fond of the last couple months. “Trick question. Form and function. Head and heart. It takes both.”

He makes a few more tick marks across the page, while Lexa collapses in on herself momentarily. Filing that very vital information. Strength and weakness. Flaws and precision. Head and heart. It takes both.

He snaps her out of her epiphany. “This is going be our last meeting, Lexa. I’m retiring. But your contractors have the number of some of the firms I worked with if they have any questions. t has truly been a pleasure getting to know you.”

“You as well, Jake. Thank you for everything. Truly.” She smiles a full and hearty smile. Full of gratitude.

“Well, you know I was in town. So…” Lexa has extended her hand, but he pulls her in for a hug and softly whispers. “When your ambassadors get here try showing them the side that Ontari sees. I’m not saying knock down walls for them like you did for her, Lexa, but maybe open a door. Like you did for me.”

They release their embrace, he squeezes her shoulder, and looks down the long table to the little girl. “Hey, Ontari. Come here.” The little girl scoots herself out of her chair and practically skips to Jake. He kneels down to meet her. “Look after this one ok, Little Bit?” He says as he gestures up to Lexa.

Ontari smiles a toothy grin. “Okay,” she says as she high fives him.

 

**Manhattan**

**February 2016**

**The Midtown Convention Center**

Lexa had always found being social exhausting. It was all the pretending. Lexa had learned to let a little bit of her true self show. But today was exceptionally hard. She is pretending to be ok when she is not. She’d found an alcove inside the convention center. The entrance to her sanctuary is flanked with columns that hold up a lofty ceiling. A golden vase at the base of the pillars are filled with exotic flowers and a growing vine snakes its way to the roof. Lexa idly thinks _Hedera Helix_. The scientific name for Ivy. She sits on a plush couch of red velvet. A little ostentation for her taste, but she couldn’t stand anymore even if she wanted to. When Lexa is emotionally exhausted it usually permeates her otherwise stalwart physical being. Her legs are crossed. And her head is in her hands. As it always is when she feels anything. It feels safest. It feels the most sheltered.

Today had been a success for the most part, even if it was emotionally exhausting. She’d found a new teacher. Set up commerce with NFL play 60 and another high profile extracurricular organizations to have guest activities at various coalition offices.

But Ontari is still sick. And Lexa is still completely devastated by it. She can’t stop the tears. She’d cried more today than she ever cried in her life.

“Oh, hello. I didn’t realize anyone was in here.” Lexa quickly tries to wipe the tears from her face as she hears footsteps move around her.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you. Just needed to get away for a minute. Too many people.” The voice is closer now.

“It’s okay. I was just leaving.”  Lexa looks up to see a beautiful dark-haired woman standing before her. Her fingertips are splayed against each other. Her hips are jutted to one side pulling her marron jacket along with it. Her name tag is pinned to the lapel. _Allison Light - Human Rights Campaign._ As Lexa stands to leave, the woman cocks her head to one side.

“You look very sad.”

Lexa could leave. Could hide her weakness as she always had. Her head says to do so. But her heart says, _Shut up. I need this. We need this._

“I am.” Lexa says tentatively.

“Why?”

“One of the children in my organization is very sick and I don’t know how to help her.”

“With what? If I may ask.”

“Leukemia.”

“Oh.” A pause. The woman relaxes her stance and offers a hand. “I’m Alie. I may be able to help you. My girlfriend’s best friend works for one of the top cancer treatment facilities in the country. I can see if they will take your case.”

Lexa takes her hand. She feels relief and trepidation wash over simultaneously. “I would be very grateful. Lexa Woods, Infinity Coalition.”

Alie smiles genuinely and takes out her phone.

 **Alie** : Hey, Clarke. I have a very sad woman here. She has a kid in her organization that has cancer. Are you guys taking patients.

 **Clarke** : Yea. I think so.

 **Alie** : Ok. Her name is Lexa Woods.

 **Clarke** : Alright have her call the Manhattan Institute for cancer research at 712-555-1717 and leave a message. Tell her to use my name. I’ll make sure the director knows what it’s for.

 **Alie** : Thanks, Clarke.

Alie takes a business card out of her pocket and writes down the number and Manhattan Institute for Cancer research on the back of it. “Give this a call. And leave your number and mention the name Clarke. Someone will contact you, okay?”

Lexa takes the card into her shaky hand and lets out a sigh. It’s her victory sigh. It is her heart expanding. “Thank you. I don’t – I don’t know how to truly thank you.”

“How about I take the couch and you go make the phone call. Fair trade?”

Lexa lets out a nervous laugh, “Deal.” The laugh turns into a full smile as Alie sits and crosses her legs, splaying her fingers against each other once more.

Lexa moves to another alcove further down the hallway. Holding the card in one shaky hand she pulls out her phone with the other. As she dials, she feels a great sense of clarity. As the line rings she is overcome with a sense of infinity. As the answering machine picks up, Lexa feels free.

 

 

 

“Hello, my name is Lexa Woods…”

 

 

 

And for the first time since the war started, Lexa’s heart is completely ahead.

 

 

 

 

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* * *

 

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  * Behind the scenes: For anyone who is confused about the difference between the infinity coalition programs and the Natblida school. In my head, the IC is an after-school and summer program. The Natblida school is Lexa’s attempt to fix the inefficiency of residential facilities. It’s a year round school that the kids live at with qualified caregivers, teachers, and clinicians specially trained for children with emotional and learning difficulties.
  * Further behind the scenes: This chapter and the Commander of the Coalition are the only two chapters that don't have full names like Lexa Woods, Clarke Griffin, Luna bateu...etc...It's meant to be indicative of Lexa's two conflicting sides.
  * Fun Fact: I really enjoy thinking. About this fic, but about stuff in general. It gives me great satisfaction to make pieces fit. Like if someone could pay me to simply sit around and think about shit all day I’d be all set.
  * Funner Fact: The technique Lexa uses during the scene with Ontari in the apartment is called Life Space Crisis Intervention.
  * Funnest Fact: I’m certified in it.
  * For further discussion: God, we’re soooo close. Can’t you just taste the Clexa?
  * Special thanks to the Doc as always! And guys send her some special love. She is getting ready to take really important exams for med school.




	20. Clarke Griffin and the Things She Carried

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke struggles with her grief. Time and Location tags have been changed into something a little different for this chapter.

It’s too much. It’s not enough. Pressure. Mass. Burden. She carries too much. The press of Finn’s hand on her thigh. The stares of others. They follow her. The pitying stares. She can’t stand the weight of them. She had spent so much of her life following her heart. Like a ship following the bright, guiding light of a beacon away from crags and sharp edges. Now she is cracked and broken on the shore. Clarke griffin, master diver, expert in floating from moment to moment, once was light. Bouyant. Weightless. Now she is heavy and encumbered anchored to the ocean floor. Trying so hard to keep her head above water.  _I’m fine. I’m fine. I will be fine._  Finn doesn’t look at her as they drive down the gravel road through the cemetery. Just presses his palm down periodically. Too heavy. Too hard. But at least he is there.

She hasn’t cried since that day at the hospital. Not even when he died. There’s no point. It doesn’t make her feel better. So she holds the tears in and adds them to the load.

Her mother sits in the front seat. Occasionally exchanging words with Luna who is driving. They’re friends now. Good friends. Her mother has somebody. But Clarke carries her mother’s grief anyway. Her mother can be free because Clarke carries her through her bouts of rage and sorrow. Holds her clutching hand and rubs soothing circles into the base of her neck. Just like he did when Clarke was upset.

It hurts. It hurts so much that Clarke thinks she will never be able to stop hurting. Too heavy. Too hard. Her heartache threatens to pull her under at any given moment.  _One more thing_ , Clarke thinks,  _and I will buckle._

Too much death. Too much loss. She looks out the window of the car and sees the cemetery. Lush. Vibrant. Peppered with grey and gold reminders of lives lived and lost.

She can’t stand the burden. So she lifts others up around her. At least they can float. At least they can be light At least they can be guided safely to shore. She wants nothing more than to forget. Tonight, she will forget. Tonight Finn will hold her, kiss her, remind her she is alive with fingertips on skin. And she will forget for a moment. With his weight on her she’ll forget what  _this_  weight feels like.

The car slows to a stop at the end of the cemetery. He floated. He was the lightest part of her. Their family. His wisdom. Lifted her up and carried her for so long. The tombstone isn’t grand. Jake Griffin, Father, Husband, Designer of the universe. ‘A small part’ of the universe is written in tiny letters beneath that bold statement.  Miracle Maker. Clarke allows a watery smile.  _He made me._  She twists the watch on her wrist as the crowd begins to gather around the grave.

A rose drops to the ground beside her. She wants nothing more to collapse next to it. Encumbered by all the things she is carrying inside her. Her patients. Her mother. Her father. Too heavy. Too hard.

Raven rests her head on Clarke’s shoulder. It feels as heavy as the gravestone in front of her. She wants to shrug her off. Scared that her knees will buckle beneath the weight. She wants to push them all away. Those seams. Those seams are wide open and wonting. She’s ripped them opened so many times. And sewed them shut so many more that the integrity has been compromised. She swallows thickly and thinks all those things that she has held. Shouldered. Burdened herself with for so long as a man she doesn’t know begins the eulogy. The final farewell.

 

**Stethoscope**

**Weight 4.6 ounces**

She always knew she was going to be a doctor. Fisher price assured it with their tot sized medical paraphernalia. Checking the pulse of anything that stood still long enough to have its pulse checked. Then later her mother gave her one of her old stethoscopes. Clarke could not be stopped.

It was so easy. Easy to become a doctor. Natural. It was everything she was in one nice and messy career. She got to care for people. She got to care for people in high pressure situations. To help them to hard won victories. Victories that she could celebrate with them. Concrete and certain. Even the losses had a certain absolute that Clarke craved.

But there was nothing quite like that first moment in med school. When she pressed the cold metal to a volunteer patient. She had been so excited she made the rookie move she swore not to make. She forgot to warm it up. He squealed a little bit, but she smiled her charming smile and his surprise quickly dissipated. She had him chatting about his medical history in no time. And Clarke was easily able to diagnose what doctors twice her age had been unable to discern. A rare type of parasitic worm.

She liked when the puzzle pieces came together like that. Nothing gave her more joy. Except for maybe the patients themselves.

The sermon is still being uttered and heads are still bowed. She looks to Luna who has put a comforting arm around her mother. Clarke is going to have to break her promise to her.

 

**Coffee**

**Weight 20 ounces**

She has countless listless memories of reaching for a cup of coffee. Buying it from the student center at NYU. Sloshing it unceremoniously across her shirt while trying to juggle her many textbooks to and from classes. Taking it from Micha’s hand almost relay style on her way to the clinic. His smile strong and brilliant as she passed with a wave. The cups Luna passed her in ceremony. In remembrance of the patients they couldn’t save. The specific sound it made as it was pushed across the table to her. She has these small insignificant memories ingrained into her brain. But she is already starting to forget parts of her father.

What his jaw looked like when he forgot to shave. It had a precise pattern of grey. It’s been two weeks. Two weeks and she can’t remember that tiny little detail.

She feels Raven’s head lift off her shoulder as the eulogy concludes. She promised her father she wouldn’t change. But she’s not even sure what that means. The clinic had changed her. Long before her father came to it. Long before his death there had been a hundred others. A hundred and one places she has dug in her heart.

 

**Cellphone**

**Weight 10.6 ounces**

Her relationships have always been her saving grace. She collected people that meant something. That stood for something. And easily let go of those that didn’t. If she scrolled through her contact list right now it would be evidence of that. Only people worth holding on to were there. Her flings. Deleted. People that didn’t treat her right. Gone. But now. Now the universe has severed the one relationship she actually needed instead of wanted. And she doesn’t understand why.

 

**Make up**

**Weight 2.2 – 6.7 ounces**

She had it so she could make an easier impression on others. But right now. She just can’t find it in herself to make an impression at all. The compression is enough.

 

**His Watch**

**Weight 9.28 ounces**

She removed the batteries the instant he died. She couldn’t stand the reminder of her failure. Couldn’t stand that it continued on without him. She threw the batteries into the Hudson. And fasten the watch around her wrist. She promised. She promised him. She wasn’t going to change.

She hasn’t broken a promise to anyone since that boy she married in the 5th grade. But she doesn’t know how to keep that promise. Clarke’s basic instinct is to adapt to her environment.  _What do you want from me, Dad?_  She knows she is going to break her promise to Luna too. She can’t stay. She can’t stay and watch anymore of her precious patients die. She’s going to focus on her final year of residency. On patients she can fix. Victories she can win. Puzzle pieces she can place.

 

**Her Heart**

**Weight of the World**

Clarke looks out across the cemetery. Eyes drifting from grave stone to grave stone and she thinks this is what her heart must look like. This is why it feels so heavy. Why she feels so low to the ground. She is encumbered with the things she couldn’t get right. The people she couldn’t save. In her life time she’s shouldered a million things. She carried everything. And that’s why Clarke thinks that out of all the things she carries her heart is the heaviest.

* * *

* * *

 

[Click here to TUMBLE](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/paintthebrain) with me.

  * Behind the scenes: Don’t worry Clarke will make it through. She’s Clarke.
  * Fun Fact: I literally disappeared into the mountains for a while. If you want to see what I was doing come over to my tumblr and search the "personal" tag.
  * For further discussion: I subscribe to Jung Typology and Myers-Briggs personality types in my every day life. But I also use it for character development. I wrote Clarke as an ENFP. Thoughts? What’s your personality type? Take the test [here](http://www.humanmetrics.com/cgi-win/jtypes2.asp).
  * Please, welcome starchildrey (on tumblr) to the proofreading team!
  * Special thanks to the Doc (Even though she wasn’t able to participate much this chapter because she was busy PASSING MED SCHOOL! HIGH FIVES! She’s )



 


	21. Clarke Griffin and the Baker's Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HI! It's back! Yay! This chapter directly links to Monkeybars of Matrimony. Raven Reyes and the Broom Closet of Brooms, CLarke and the Ah-ha moment, Clarke and the Things She Carried would also be good to re-read to get the full scope of Clarke's journey as you read this one. I worked a long time on this chapter. I hope it shows. Thank you for being here!

**3** **rd** **Ave and 94** **th** **St**

**November 2015**

**An Apartment**

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He wasn’t supposed to be here. But he slipped in through the cracks in her armor. It was supposed to be once. Maybe twice. But a year later and they are still together. Because he had been good for her. He is good. Was good. She’s not sure anymore.

He’s changed. She barely recognizes him.

Everything is tarnished to her now. And for the life of her, Clarke could not understand how she had let this get so out of control.

He stands looking at her. Eyes weeping. Knuckles bruised but healing. His court summons on the table between them. He knows what’s coming. But Clarke cannot understand how _she_ didn’t see this coming.

He was supposed to be her savior. To lift her up. Carry her.

But she had finally remembered.

No he wasn’t. No one is.

_Be strong. Stay you._

 

**Manhattan’s Upper West Side**

**October 2014**

**Clarke and Raven’s Apartment**

Her room is in total disarray. The suitcase lies on the bed, clothes falling from it at all angles. She keeps slamming any article she can find into it without care for what she is actually going to wear. Tears keep coming and she keeps throwing things into the luggage. Hoping she has enough to wear. What does someone wear to the goodbye of their childhood home? To see their sick father? To hold her devastated mother? How does one prepare for that?

Raven slides into the room stealthily with a box of Cheez-Its and a glass of lemonade. “Thought you might need a little replenishing. Sooo.” She holds them out to her friend’s back. Clarke looks at the shirts she has in each hand. Weighing the value of both. She uses one to secretly wipe her tears and then tosses it on the floor. She tosses the other into the suitcase and turns around to look at her friend.

“Thanks, Rae.” Clarke says taking the nourishment and setting it on the nightstand. “I didn’t know we had lemonade.”

“Freshly squeezed.” Raven says with a warm knowing smile. Her friend is hurting and she knows why, but she won’t push her. She’ll just be here. Raven moves to wrap around her best friend. Embracing her tightly until Clarke gives a little yelp. “And now you are too.” Clarke gives a small chuckle as they pull away from each other. Raven continues to massage her mood with a beaming smile. “Plus, life handed you lemons so I made you lemonade. But I think we can do better than that.”

Clarke looks up sheepishly, but with a question in her eyes. “Yea?”

“Yea. I got some zinc nails and some copper wire from Al’s. I never liked that saying. When life hands you lemons, why make lemonade when you can make a battery and light up the world.”

Clarke laughs loudly. “Sounds like something you would do. And Alie.”

“Yeah. If you don’t take me up on it, it can be our third official date.”

“How’s that going?”

“It’s really good actually. She gets me on a very deep level. It’s almost like she’s in my head.”

“Duh. You guys finish each other’s sentences. For a year. What took you so long?”

“At first it was you. I didn’t want to step on your territory. And then it became other things. And then one day she cocked her head to the side and flexed her fingers against each other, like she always does and told me to get my shit together, ask her out.” Raven deftly steers the topic deeper. Massaging. Carefully pulling apart the layers Clarke has created to convince everyone around her. Convince herself that she is fine. “Clarke. It’s okay. It’s okay to be sad.”

“Duh. Rae, I know.” Sticking her tongue out.

Raven moves forward solemnly. She’s never been one to push when Clarke is like this. Forcing things down and away. Years of practice taught Raven this. Taught her to go slow. Take a step. Massage and wait. And then Clarke would come to terms with it. But Raven wasn’t sure this time. She’s never seen Clarke quite like this. Never this far in denial. Not even when Clarke was figuring out her sexuality. And for all her years of practice, Raven could never tell one thing. “I just never been able to tell if you are pretending you don’t feel or if you just don’t know how much you feel until it hits you.” She says with sass and concern.

“Maybe a little bit of both. I don’t know, Raven. I don’t really like to think about it.”

A gentle pressure. A subliminal attempt to make Clarke see. See that one day not thinking about her feelings; not applying her head to her heart will ruin her. Turn Clarke into someone Raven didn’t recognize. “Maybe you can start?”

Clarke’s phone chimes under the piles of unworthy clothing. “Maybe.” Clarke says as she unlocks the phone, smiling at her best friend before looking down at the screen. “It’s Finn.” Her brow furrows. Raven can see a minor conflict resting in the ridges.

“Who?”

“Finn. I met him the other day. Right before…right before I found out.”

“Oh.” Raven blurts

“He wants to have dinner together.”

“Clarke, you can’t possibly be thinking about starting anything with anyone now.” She regrets the words as soon as they are out of her mouth. It was too much. Too heavy handed. And in nanoseconds she’s proven right.

“Don’t worry about it.” Clarke says. Her words like a whip. “I can be sad about this and be happy about other things.” Her thumbs hop and skip across her phone screen. “There. I have date when I get back.”

Raven sighs. She can feel Clarke shutting her off again. “Ok, Clarke. Just…”

“I have to go, Raven. I’ll see you in a few days.”

Clarke tucks her coat under her arm and picks up the suitcase. Raven watches with keen eyes. Hoping Clarke will give her some sign that this will be ok. She knows Clarke is strong. She knows the type of person Clarke is. But this. This is something neither of them are prepared for.

Clarke stops at the door of her room. Her words come on the apex of an exhalation. “You know I love you right?” She doesn’t look back. Raven stands stark still.

“Yeah, I know.” Raven steps forward, around Clarke, and wraps her friend in a hug. The suitcase bumps Raven on the back. “A fresh-squeezed kind of love.” Clarke laughs through a stunted sob. Raven continues her mission to make her friend laugh. To bring pieces of the Clarke she knows and loves back. “You know I’d come to your Lemon Aid anytime.”

“Oh my god. Puns? Now I really have to go.” Clarke manages to hold the tears back with an endearing smile for her friend. She pulls Raven back in for another hug. “Love you, Rae.”

“Love you too, Clarke.”

**Upper Eastside**

**October 2014**

**A Restaurant**

His smile is almost blinding even in the candlelight. It’s reassuring almost. Finn’s eyes dance in the warm ambience. And Clarke is here with him. Her mind is not on her father. She’s focused. Because he’s such a good distraction. Such a beautiful decoy.

Between them are the flowers he bought her. Clarke recognizes the bouquet as one from the flower shop next to his parent’s bakery. He’s charming. And kind. She learns that he once wanted to be a cop. A hostage negotiator. Or something. But his big brother wasn’t able to take over the business. So Finn allowed himself to be groomed for it instead.

He’s a good man. He’s good enough.

She hopes.

Raven’s words creep up on her suddenly. Of course she hasn’t been thinking about her feelings. Clarke dives in. She focuses on the things she can do. On the things she can change.  Not the feelings that weigh her down. Her own sort of hostage negotiation. But they have snuck in now. Like predators. Scavenging away her mirage. Finn’s words scuttling away like unwanted prey. She can’t focus on him. Because for the first time in a very very long time Clarke asks herself why? Why is she here? Why is this happening? Why is her father sick? Why is this her life? She never had much use for the why. Clarke was more of a how girl. How do I fix this? How do I achieve that? How do I save them? How means a solution. A problem to solve. The why terrifies her. It only gives an answer. A reason for the problem. But no solution.   _I don’t wanna die, Clarke. I want you to live._ It’s terribly inconvenient.

She is struggling now. To listen to Finn. These thoughts slipped in as suddenly as the questions. Watercolor images seep in like the fluid they are made from. She tries to purge them. Focus again on his best traits. But the words from his mouth are sterile and benign. Not sharp. Not witty. Not dangerous. He’s lean and handsome and harmless. She’s not likely to fall for him. This is just a distraction she reminds herself. This is for the night. Not forever.

Finn notices her change in demeanor and calls for the check. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bore you.”

“You weren’t. I just have a lot on my mind.”

“Want to talk about it?”

Clarke smiles her charming smile. One of the tricks she’s learned to curb invasive inquiries. “That’s not really my thing. How about desert?”

“I can make you something at the shop.”

She should stop this. She should ask herself why she’s doing this. But currently the only pressing question is how. How do I make this better? How can I feel better? “Fine.” She says.

They stroll hand in hand. Cars passing in twos and threes beside them. It’s nice. It’s comfortable. She remembers the shop. She likes the way it smells. She doesn’t remember what he makes her for dessert. Just that it was sweet and light and filling. Like the way she wants to feel.

The night is coming to an end. They both know it. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to make Clarke forget what is waiting for her when she gets home. An empty bed. Ghosts of things she can’t change. A graveyard of people she couldn’t save.

Finn looks at her with kind eyes. “I had a good time. Maybe we can do this again sometime.” In her heart she knows he is a peace maker. A good soul. But something nags at her. Reminds her maybe that’s not enough.

“Maybe.” She says.

He hangs his head perhaps knowing that her maybe is a probably not. He lifts his head revealing a coy smile and opens the shop door gesturing for her to exit. “I’ll call you a cab then.” Clarke stares at his smile and sees something in it again. Something safe. Something curative. Something good.

She touches his forearm as he is lifting the phone to his ear. “Or you could just take me to your place right now.”

He places the phone back in his pocket. A set of keys clank and clatter as they emerge from the same pocket. He’s moving slow. Giving Clarke enough time to back out if she wants to. She knows she won’t. she needs this. He locks the bakery door and pulls the gate down. He grabs her hand and slowly pushes her two more steps to a door she didn’t notice. “Home sweet home.” He says with that same glittery smile. Clarke lets go. This is good enough for tonight.

**Above the Bakery**

**Later that night**

**Finn’s apartment**

She finally feels the reprieve she’d been searching for. Her body is slack and tolerant. Her limbs ache with relief. Shifting under the sheets to pad across the room, Clarke draws in a deep breath. She stares down at the partially familiar street below. She's walked it before. But not like this. She should leave. She turns and her eyes flit across the peaked sheets, her gaze falling on Finn.

Her toes curl in the carpeting where she stands. Clarke takes another deep breath, inhaling the smell of fresh bread again. She’s not sure which is more comforting, the satisfying feeling throughout her body or the aroma of baking confectioneries that seem to cling to every corner of his apartment, every piece of him.

The orange glow from the street lights permeates a few feet into the room. The harshest of the glow sieved by his curtains, leaving only a filtered amber pushing onto his blue and white diamond sheets. She sits on the edge of the bed. Precarious. Teetering. Between grief and hope. This could be exactly what she needs. She ghosts fingers over his shock of brown hair as it cascades over his pillow. She blazes. Renewed like a phoenix. Rising from the ashes. Light and almost free.

She pulls back the sheets and glides in beside him. He shifts in his sleep and wraps sinewy arms around her. His weight is comforting. His weight is freeing. For now. Questions trying to slink their way in to her consciousness again. Disseminating doubt and fear and uncertainty. The tears sprouting without her permission. She closes her eyes tight. Crushing the lids together until they burn with the effort. The weight. Clarke feels Finn’s muscles flex in his sleep and thinks that maybe. Just maybe he might just be strong enough to hold her up.

**Above the bakery**

**January 2015**

**Finn’s Apartment**

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“Your father is sick.”

“It’s not that big of deal.” He had been quiet the whole way back from meeting her family and friends.

“It’s not that big of deal? Your mother told me while we were looking at the ice sculptures. Said she was glad that I could be supportive. She thought I knew.”

“It’s not that big of deal.”

“Clarke.”

“Don’t take it personal, Finn. I don’t tell anybody these things.”

“I’m your boyfriend. I should know these things.”

Is he? They spend every moment that she’s not working or with her family together. She never thought she’d be the type that couldn’t be alone. But these days being alone means a threadbare soul and thrashing about in her sleep. They never really defined it. She just kinda dived in and forgot about it. But they went through all the right motions. Met the friends and family. Joked. Kissed. Hugged. It felt good. That’s all she needs. “Ok, Finn.”  He had even revealed his truths and secrets. Like the real reason he was taking over the family business. His parents disowned his brother for being gay. And then pinned all their hopes and dreams on Finn. The least she could do was be honest with him.

“Ok.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Is your dad going to be ok?”

“No.”

“Oh.” He shakes his head. She knows what she did is wrong. But they weren’t supposed to make it this far. He wasn’t supposed to be here.

“Yeah.” She pushes closer to him. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. You’re right. You are my boyfriend. And I should tell you things like this. It’s just depressing to talk about.”

“We can talk about other things.”

“We don’t have to talk at all.” She says taking her shirt off. All of this is too much. Too heavy. Too hard. She needs release. On top of him is the only time she feels weightless. She raises her eyes to the ceiling and closes them tight.

**Upper East Side**

**February 2015**

**Lexington ave**

Clarke had just finished the most romantic dinner of her life. Valentine heart and half naked cherubs bedecked the mid-class but delicious restaurant. Roses and candles. It was a sweet gesture. And sickening cliché. It was all culminated with Finn finally working up the nerve to tell her he loved her.

She wants to say it back. I love you. But she can’t. There are words missing that would make that statement true. I love: what you are to me. Not who you are. Instead she squeezes his hand affectionately.

**Above the Bakery**

**June 2015**

**Finn’s Apartment**

The dripping faucet sends shivers down her spine. Parts of her leaking across the room. Drip. Drip. It reminds her. Conjures images of her father’s deteriorating face. From the drip comes the flood. With each droplet a piece of her shatters and sprays. A tidal wave of emotions. Sinking. Drowning.

She buried her father today. But she knows she buried pieces of him long before. Hoping to hold. To preserve. _Be strong. Stay you._ Those words haunt her. As do Luna’s. When Clarke told her. After the funeral that she couldn’t stay at the institute. _It’s fine, Clarke. Do what you need to do._ It’s not fine. It probably will be one day. But she doesn’t know what _she needs to do_ to get there.

Finn heaves a heavy sigh in his sleep. They’ve had enough sex now that all of those moments blend together. It’s not the first time. But it is the first time it fails to give her relief. Her eyes chase his chiseled lines. Pecs and abs on display. A thigh peeking out from the diamond sheets. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, chin warping and her neck lengthening upward with the expansion of her chest.

He’s so good. A good person. A good boyfriend in most ways. A good lover. She’s known that since the beginning. But now, a single eye opens, and she looks at the ceiling. A convoluted wink cast upward. The filtered amber that has become so familiar over the last few months is a different hue than she remembers it. Like fire light. Throwing the ceiling into to stark contrast. It’s like she’s seeing it for the first time. There are cracks there she never knew existed. Paint peeling away from each fissure.

Her eyes return to him. He always has to have the last word. He’s a little clingy. Calling and texting her more in a day than Clarke would with any living person in a week. He’s not good with words. He calls her princess even though she told him she hates that. He isn’t very intelligent. He has a cleverness to him, yes. A certain kind of wit. But when Clarke sees a fact she likes or something she thinks is interesting and she tries to share it with him, she always ends up having to explain it. A simple fact about stars turns into 45-minute astronomy lesson. It’s exhausting. He’s smart just not cerebral. But he tries. For her, he tries.

Her feelings for him are like trying to remember the exact shape and detail of a single cloud she saw one day when she was in 5th grade. To pull that from memory requires a rapid fire projection of every cloud she has ever seen. It wouldn’t be the cloud she saw that day. It would be a wisp. An amalgamation. An inaccuracy. She knows she feels something for Finn. But she can’t pinpoint it. The seizing. The whirring. The malfunctioning heart. She is trying now to take Raven’s advice. Shifting through every emotion. Grief. Loneliness. She is beginning to lay out every feeling she has ever felt. Every emotion she has tried to deny. And she can’t find the one that fits Finn. This is love, right. It has to be. She feels good when she is with him. But right now.

Right now she still doesn’t know how she feels about him. She feels better when she is with him. Felt better. Better than sorrow.

That’s not love. That’s a band aid. She swears then she’ll try harder. For him. She doesn’t love him, but maybe she can now.

 

**MICR**

**July 2015**

**Clarke’s Office**

She looks around her tiny office. It’s a small space Luna had delegated to her as a gift for helping develop the new technique all that time ago. The walls are punctuated with orange polka dots. Clarke always found it invigorating. But sometimes, with the long hours, that wasn’t enough to keep her awake. Luna allocated a cot for her as well, for when the long hours got to be too much. Clarke takes the orange comforter and begins to fold it.

More packing. More goodbyes. Her final year of residency starts next week. She needs to let this place go. It hurts to leave, but it hurts even more to stay.

If her father could see her now, what would he say? Would he hold her accountable? Or would he understand? He always had an answer. She is so much like him.

Was so much like him.

She doesn’t really remember the last time the sadness creeped in like this and held her so steadfast that she couldn’t move. Couldn’t see the way forward. She can’t ever remember a systematic malfunction like this. The whirring and seizing of her most infallible organ. She had spent her whole life approaching situations head first, followed quickly by a sleeve, confident in her heart’s place upon it. Confident that it could never be dislodged from its perch. But now. Too heavy. Too hard. It’s fallen and it’s lying at her feet.

Why is this happening? The word finally creeping up on her. Screaming to be asked. Why? WHY? Why her father? Why now? Why is this happening?

Most of her life had been spent denying the why. Why didn’t help her move forward. Getting stuck on why led to indecision or perhaps was a product of it. Clarke needed to always be moving forward. Which caused to live her life by the how. She rarely has time to ask why something is happening. But she’s stuck now. Encumbered. The how is useless to her right now. She has no idea. How to move forward. How to make it all work. She’s broken and she doesn’t know _how_ to put herself back together again. So the why. The why is all she can think about. Why is this happening? she remembers one time she’d asked that question before.

**Annapolis, Maryland**

**May 2007**

**The front stoop of the Griffin residence**

The steps of her home are brick. Solid and secure. Not a chip. Not a dent. Save for one brick with a Griffin on it. They’ve always been like that. Sturdy. She liked the feel of them. She liked to view the passerby. She had her first kiss on these steps. She had a few kisses on these steps.

But her best kiss by far was nowhere near these steps. It was on a small grassy stretch of land behind the recreation center at NYU. His name was Drew. Clarke had many boyfriends. But he was closest thing to love she had ever had at the time.

Clarke clutches her camp counselor contract in her hand. They were going to spend the summer together. He drove them home from NYU the night before. When Clarke went to help him unpack his bags, he stopped her. He confessed he wasn’t going to work at the summer camp with her. In fact, he was transferring universities all together. And they should stop what they were doing. It caught Clarke completely off guard. There had been no clues. No signs. And now she is stuck working at summer camp or breaking her contract. It had been his idea in the first place. She doesn’t want to go.

The concrete is starting to bite into her as she tries to figure out a way to get out of her contract. She registers footsteps, but doesn’t look up. A warm body glides in beside her.

She looks up to see her father. Tears welling in her eyes. “Dad.”

“Shh. It’s okay, Clarke. Your mother told me.”

“I just didn’t see this coming. I always see things coming.”

“I know, Clarke. But he made his choice. What about you? Are you gonna go or not?”

“I don’t know. I did this for him. Because it’s what he wanted. A big part of me wants to rip up this stupid contract and accept the consequences.”

“And the other part?”

“It wants me to go just to spite him. To prove that I can do it with or without him.” She wipes a single finger across her lower eyelid. “Plus, I made a promise.” She says wiggling the contract slightly in the air. “I’m going to keep it. It’s the right thing to do.”

Jake beams brightly. “That’s my girl.” He gives her a tight squeeze. “Don’t ever change.”

Clarke feels the hard brick and the warm embrace and feels at home. Safe. But also insecure. “Dad.”

“Yeah, Little Bit?”

“Why is this happening?”

He sighs heavily. “I don’t know, Clarke.”

She nods, blonde hair shaking with effort. It was just a shot in the dark. She didn’t really expect an answer. Not really. It’s just. Her father usually has an answer for everything. She just hoped.

Jake’s sigh is almost like a lament. He takes slow deep breath. “Life is a braid.”

“Hmm?”

“Life is a braid, Clarke. The people we meet. Their presence in our lives whether we know they are there or not, we are tied to them. And them to us. Woven into each other’s lives. Our story is their story. The thinnest of strings. The thickest of ropes. All twisting together. For a reason. The life we make is because of chance encounters, fleeting affections, and great loves. We collect relationships, sometimes on purpose, often on accident. “

Clarke hangs on his every word. As always. The answer she needs.

“This collection. These relationships. They are our legacy. Our anthology. It’s not until we look back on our lives do we see that. Do we see the braid we have created. The reason for it all.  I can’t tell you why this is happening, Clarke. But I can tell you we will look back on it one day and know.”

She understood now. Why that had happened. Why Drew devastated her. She met Lucy that summer. She met her first real love. A woman that was kind and smart and all things Clarke could ever want in another person. The person that showed her what to strive for in a relationship. She never would have met her if that stupid boy hadn’t suggested she go to that camp.  Lucy showed Clarke a side of her she didn’t know existed. Not until they met. Who knows how long Clarke would have gone not knowing just what her feelings for girls really meant. Who knows where she would be right now if she hadn’t discovered in that precise moment in time that she was bisexual. Life is a braid. It makes marks we never intend to make. Loops and swipes. And scars and miracles.

She is where she is right now. In some way. Because a boy chickened out and she fell in love with a girl.

 

**MICR**

**Still July 2015**

**Clarke’s Office**

She still doesn’t know the why she needs to know right now. The why that shrieks with her every thought. Always a half step behind every word on her tongue. But now she remembers that there is a chance she will. She will understand why she has to leave the institute. Why she was ever here in the first place. Why her father died. Why she’s with Finn. She will know the answers. One day.

A light knock sounds at the door. Clarke shoves another item into her box.

It’s Finn.

She knows she’s peeling away from him like the paint from his ceiling. But she doesn’t know why. She can see his quiet desperation. But she can do nothing to ameliorate it. Yet. She’s trying.

She tries to wipe away the instant irrational feeling of inconvenience. She sees the twist in his body language and the knot in his eyes. She’s _trying._ She pulls him in for a chaste kiss and sweet smile. He’s a good man.

He instantly relaxes. A lilting smile appears on his face and small box of professional grade colored pencils appears from behind his back.

“I read somewhere that drawing can be therapeutic.”

Clarke takes them from his hand. He holds on and swipes a thumb across her grasping fingers. She can see the tension permeate his body as another internal struggle begins.

He clears his throat. “You’ve been…” He sighs, not sure if he should continue. “I know you are grieving. It’s just…You’ve been distant. And…I want to help.”

She doesn’t want to do this anymore. She doesn’t want to be this person anymore. To see the understanding. The concern. And not be able to reciprocate it.

“It’s ok, Clarke. I know what this is.”

“What is?”

Before he can answer another knock comes as the door peeks open.

“Am I interrupting?”

Clarke is about to say yes, but Finn answers for her. “No, Dr. Bateau. I was just leaving.” He gives Clarke a quick kiss on the cheek. “See ya later, princess.” He whispers. Clarke nods and he’s gone.

Clarke looks into her mentor’s eyes. “Hi. I’ll be done in a few minutes. I was gonna come say goodbye then.” Clarke says as she looks away. She can’t stomach the almost psychic way Luna seems to know her thoughts. She wants to run. She wants to hide. But she knows she can’t. Not really. Not from Luna. There are few people who seem to just see right through her. Fewer now that her father is gone.

“Clarke.” Too much. Too much.

Tears begin their watery march and Clarke tries to conceal them by putting anything she can find into the box. Heavy. Hard. Dropping objects blindly into it. She reaches for the pack of colored pencils but a deft, kind hand stops her.

“Clarke.”

“I can’t stay.”

“I know, Clarke. That’s not why I’m here.”

Clarke looks up again. It’s not pity. It’s not concern. It’s understanding. And that is just as daunting.

“I’m not asking you to stay. Just asking you not to pack. This office is yours. Whether you’re here or not. It’s a reminder that you will always have a place here, Clarke. Literally. And figuratively.”

Clarke chokes back a laugh. And unknowingly rushes to embrace her friend. “Thank you, Luna.”

“My pleasure, Clarke.” Luna says as she pulls back from the hug and takes the blanket from the box, spreading it across the small cot. Clarke puts a few items back on the shelves. Arranges a few objects on her desk while Luna systematically returns the room to its original state, seemingly from memory. Clarke picks up the colored pencils and eyes them uncertainly.

“Would you like to go get lunch before you leave?” Luna says as she adjusts a picture on the wall of a wild-haired Mrs. Busey with her good-humored grey eyes.

Clarke’s gaze snaps up and she blinks herself out of her reverie.

“What?”

“Do you want Lunch?”

“Sure.” She says as she opens the desk drawer and shoves the pencils to the back before slamming it shut.

**St. Luke’s**

**October 2015**

**The ER**

The gleaming surface of the nurse’s station, pristine and sturdy, reflects the sterile light vigorously. Pressing radiant echoes into her eyes. She’s always felt like St. Luke’s was a bit blinding. She couldn’t ever properly open her eyes in this place. Dr. Jackson, head of Oncology and trusted colleague of her once mentor strides forward through the dazzling luminous turmoil.   
“Dr. Griffin.” His smile nearly as saturated as the unnatural light burning her retinas.   
“Dr. Jackson. You seem oddly chipper.” She’s bored. She’s tired of the same cases. It’s made her a bit irritable. And this newfound emotion, she seems to be discovering all kinds of expression of these negative things these days, pushes her further into her bad mood.    
“Dr. Bateau didn’t tell you?”   
“I’ve been busy.” Yes, she’s been busy. She’s always busy. But somehow she’s still so bored. Finn is a needy fuck these days. And neurosurgery is not as exciting as she once thought it was. It all seemed routine. And Clarke craved something different. It’s neurosurgery. It’s supposed to be the most cutthroat. The most intense. Clarke finds herself yawning through burr holes. She could bisect duramatter in her sleep. The stakes aren’t as high as she once thought they were. She’s too good for it to be a possibility. Lowest mortality rate of any solo resident. She needs more.   
“Oh well we’re starting…”   
“A new project. Very cutting edge stuff.” Luna strides up behind them. Ethereal even in the phosphorescence. Regal and attuned. A smile glittering in her brown eyes.   
“Here to tempt me back?” Clarke half begs she says yes. She thinks she can do it again. It’s only been a few months. But the pain isn’t as harsh anymore. It’s still heavy. Still that weight. But she’s beginning to understand how to hold it. She thinks that without the weight she wouldn’t be able to understand what it means to be free.    
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” The microscopic smile growing with waggish charisma. Clarke is reminded that Luna has held the weight of their responsibilities far longer. And Clarke has never seen her stumble under it. She wants to know how. Clarke wants to be brave again. Luna with her stick straight spine and tutorial demeanor. She knows Luna can carry this weight without others. Clarke can see it in her every movement. The weight and how effortlessly Luna appears to shoulder it. Because life wasn’t measured in what you carried, but in how you carried yourself.   
She’s beginning to understand what her father asked of her.   
_Be strong, Clarke. Stay you_ .   
“Your office is just the way you left it.” Luna gives a strong squeeze on Clarke’s shoulder. “Just in case you were wondering.” Luna disappears into the obtrusive light, Dr. Jackson trailing behind her. Searing. Blinding. But for the first time in over a year, her eyes are truly open.

 

**St. Luke’s**

**November 2015**

**A hallway near the main lobby**

She knows it’s too late for her and Finn when their one-year anniversary had come and gone with little fanfare. A phone call and a “Sorry Finn. A new patient just came in. I gotta go.” She hasn’t spoken to him since then. 4 days. And she hasn’t really even thought about him either.

St Luke’s had been incredibly busy. The ER had been packed. The operating rooms full. All hands on deck, as they say. Every bed is occupied. Almost every second of every day. Every doctor is spread thin.

Dr. Jackson walks by. His nose in some paperwork. Clarke gets a surge. Feels a draw.

She hadn’t worked at the clinic in a few months. It surprised her how empty she felt because of it. She has wanted to be a doctor her whole life. She’s wanted to be a neurosurgeon since high school. But now it all felt formulaic and procedural. The weight she once felt because of the clinic was beginning to dissipate. Or perhaps she was getting better at carrying it. Understanding it.

More cases meant more losses. But it didn’t sting like it once did. It felt different. Distant. Impersonal. Her attending, Dr. Kutbay, had all the control. The say so. Clarke had all the ideas.

He walks stiffly down the hall toward her and hands off a bunch a charts. He begins talking at her in his most patronizing tone. Clarke nods politely through his power trip bullshit. He always ignores her advice. This is the way the hospital hierarchy works. Clarke swears that when she’s an attending she won’t act like this douche. Not for the first time does she regret her career path. Neurosurgery requires a certain kind of ego she just doesn’t have.

This detached method of healing. This cold way of caring. It hurts more than losing lives. She has learned to live with those deaths. To understand them. They weren’t failures. Clarke cared. Clarke gave herself to them. Dedication like that is not failure. _Be strong. Stay you._ She couldn’t stop thinking about the Institute. It’s the innovation. The chance to make a difference. The synergy she felt with Luna discussing nuclear therapies.

Dr. Kutbay continues his monologue. Clarke stares down the hallway and into the waiting area. She can see a myriad of patients waiting to be seen. Her heart protests at the monotony of it all. Dr. Kutbay gives a huff and struts away passed Dr. Jackson. Clarke’s heart gets a sudden jolt. She feels a surge of impulse.

“How long would it take for me to finish a fellowship in oncology?” She says as she leans up against the wall beside the attending oncologist.

Dr. Jackson looks up from his paperwork and blinks rapidly. “What?”

“Hypothetically. How long? I have 7 months left in my residency. If I switched to an oncology fellowship right now. How much longer would I have in my residency?” She sees him peak a beautiful smile.

“Well you basically did an extended internship at the most prestigious cancer research center in the country and I’m sure Luna would back you. So about 6 months here. And then you can finish the fellowship at the Institute in another 6 months. I’d say you could be an attending oncologist anywhere you choose this time next year.”

She lays a friendly hand on his arm and gives him her best smile. “Ok. I’ll let you know. Don’t tell Luna. I wanna tell her myself.”

“Sure thing, Clarke.” He says as he lays a reassuring hand on top of hers.

She’s about to turn away when she hears a large commotion coming from the waiting area. She hears a code called. Looks to the waiting room and sees fists flying. Clarke doesn’t think. She just starts sprinting. Heading right toward the danger. Dr. Jackson follows quickly after her, throwing his paperwork on the nearest nurse’s station.

Just as she breaks out into the waiting area, 2 armed guards rush passed her tackling the cause of the commotion to the ground. A young man. Brown locks are torrid. His white T-shirt is stretched. Knuckles are bloody. Eyes are wild.

They lift him. He struggles against the hold. Clarke can’t believe her eyes.

“Finn?”

“Clarke.” His body falls limp. His eyes become placid. Peaceful. “I found you.”

 **3** **rd** **Ave and 94** **th** **St above a bakery**

**November 2015**

**Finn’s Apartment**

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He was meant to be a distraction. He should never have been here. If she could have just called him. Just left it at a one night stand. If she hadn’t needed to feel something other than sorrow. If she would have just been strong enough to do this alone.

She hadn’t been. But she is now.

“Finn.” She pauses.

He gives a small weak laugh. “It’s ok, Clarke.” The laugh dying with a sigh in his throat. “I know what this was. From the beginning. I knew what this was supposed to be.”

Clarke feels a pang of remorse.

“Don’t, Clarke. You deserve better than me. I guess I just lost sight of that. When I met you I was on a path I didn’t want to be on either. Being with you gave me purpose. You needed someone.”

She knows now what she feels for him. It’s not love. It’s gratitude. “This was about more than just needing someone. I wanted it to be you.”

“Yeah, well, no regrets.” His smile is grainy and pixelated. Like an old photograph. A memory she never intended to make. “At least I don’t have to be a baker now.”

She stares at him. At his boy next door good looks. At his solemn smile. He’s still a good man. He’s as lean and handsome as he always was. Just not as harmless as she once thought. She never meant to turn him into this. She takes in his bruised and battered appearance, and with a heavy heart she knows now what he has always known.

He hadn’t changed. Not really.

She changed.

She had become the kind of person that accepted good enough.

_Be strong. Stay you._

She hadn’t accepted that kind of love in the 5th grade. She wasn’t about to start now.

She cups his jaw and gives him a final kiss. He closes his eyes and accepts it. She walks out the door and doesn’t look back.

She was sorry.

But he hadn’t earned it.

Not the way it should be earned.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

* * *

[Click here to TUMBLE](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/paintthebrain) with me.

  * Behind the scenes: OMG. This chapter took countless hours or writing, editing, and widdling away unnecessary words. For every one word you see here (Almost 7000) there are probably an additional 3 or 4 that didn’t make it in.
  * Fun Fact: This fic is designed to be read out of order as well. You can read any random vignette and then another and see things maybe you haven’t before. Let me know if you try this.
  * Fun Fact: Finn didn’t ‘earn it’ because Clarke just gave it to him. Because she needed someone.
  * For further discussion: We don’t earn people. Or their love. But we do earn the relationships that are a result of that love. Discuss. My friend Mars and I had a beautiful discussion about this. Love should be unconditional. But the relationship that happens because we fall in love are not a given. You have to work for those. Family included.
  * Special thanks to dandelionsgrow for proofreading this chapter!
  * Special thanks to the Doc for holding my hand and coaxing me through when I was having mini episodes of perfectionism.




	22. Luna Bateau and Someday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi! The wait is over! I truly loved writing this chapter even if it took forever. 
> 
> I recommend you reread Luna Bateau and the Night that Lasted for 34 weeks before you read this. There's also seeds from The Baker's Son in this chapter. And a couple other chapters. I mean at this point everything is connected somehow.
> 
> Glad you are still here! And Welcome if you just got here!

**The MICR**

**February 2016**

**Luna’s Office**

 

She closes the door to her office and peels off her lab coat like a boxer removing his tape and gloves. The fight is over for tonight.

She hangs the coat on a hook with one hand, while the other hand brings a cup of chamomile tea to her lips.

It’s warm. And comforting. An oasis and a shrine and a home.

She sinks into her office chair with a sigh.

It’s not a luxury she allows very often, but Luna tilts her chair back and puts her legs on her desk. The late hour ensures that no one will discover this mild, temporary transgression.

It’s too quiet. And she feels the loneliness creep up on her.

There isn’t much to keep it at bay. Except the phone calls and emails from potential patients. The reminders that she chose this loneliness for their benefit. She doesn’t always listen directly to every request that comes to the clinic’s call line or personally respond to emails. She has a team of highly trained doctors and personnel that aid in selecting cases now, but on a night like tonight Luna just needs to hear them. Sometimes, she just needs to hear their voices. She needs to feel connected to them. Like when she first started her career, aiding the referrals personally. It helps keep her grounded.

 She secures her mug firmly on the desk within reach, grabs a pen and pad of paper, and hits the play button to the computerized answering service, tilting further back in her chair.

Stranger after stranger pleads their case. Luna always does her best to make sure the clinic takes every patient it can and helps set up connections to other facilities for the patients they can’t. She takes careful notes and jots down numbers or files them using one of the helpful features of the automated service. But tonight she just needs the white noise. Something to drown out the buzzing silence. The punch drunk sensation of too many late nights and not enough sleep.

This meditative state is vital to Luna’s mental health. She would have burn out a long time ago if she didn’t allow for these moments of rumination. She can sort through her feelings. Allow herself to miss others. Allow herself to feel regret.

In front of her, the floor to ceiling windows look down over the Family Comfort Center. The colors are visible even from this height. She had done a lot of research on those colors. Finding the perfect shades of green and brown and grey and orange. The combination was meant to create peace. But there is only peace for those who fight and lose. The colors don’t matter. All colors bleed when tears cover the eyes. She wanted to change them when renovations came up last July. But Clarke had mentioned how the colors had given her a sense of hope and yet a sense of absolution while waiting for news about her dad. She had the design team keep the color scheme and added a blue pinstripe in his memory. But she didn’t tell Clarke that.

Maybe colors do matter.

Luna looks to the door she came in from. Through that door and right across the hall is Clarke’s office. It’s still adorned in orange polka dots and vivid hues. Very much like Clarke.

She misses Clarke.

She misses the effortlessness that comes with having someone like Clarke around. She misses the effortless silence that speaks only of true companionship. The kind of companionship that comes with finding someone who knows what you want to say, what you feel, without uttering a word. Someone who can carry things, help alleviate the burden. Whether Clarke knows she can or not.

Their relationship isn’t the only thing that Luna thinks about on days like these. She thinks about Lexa. Clarke is not a replacement for the daughter she gave up. It’s an entirely different entity. But it gives her comfort to know that, had Lexa said yes to letting Luna into her life, Luna would have been good at it.

She’s good at Clarke. And Clarke as good at her.

There’s no small miracle in finding someone who understands you.

Luna looks behind her and out the window at the city outside. Snowflakes collide with the warm pane and melt into prismatic drops, dissolving into tiny rivers down the glass. The voices continue their descant. Sweeping sporadically through the room. An echo. Luna finds herself pulled away. The voices fade as her thoughts continue to expand.

She takes another sip of tea and smiles as she thinks about the mentorship that turned into a friendship with the talented young doctor.

**NYU Medical School**

**January 2013**

**A Lecture Hall**

Luna walks into the Lecture Hall. It’s far too early to be coherent. If she’s lucky, her students will digest about half of what she says. She knows that to most students this is just the “make sure you don’t falsify data to fit your agenda” class. Ethics of research is like taking a whole class on just antibiotics. At first glance, antibiotics are common sense, they’re prescribed to help combat the disease, but there’s a whole lot more to the science of it. Side effects. Mixing with other medicine. Resistant strains. When to prescribe and not prescribe. Ethics in research and medicine would appear on the surface to be common sense as well. But it’s so much more than that. Ethics is what bedside manner is built on. And bed side manner is what doctors are built on. Despite the fact that many doctors build their careers on their own egos.

NYU sought her out after she had helped Johns Hopkins develop curriculum for their oncology program. As a dedicated researcher she was always on the cutting edge of techniques, so it was only natural that institutes of higher learning would seek her advice, but she resented them slightly for it. She had fought tooth and nail, against those kinds egos, after she fit herself into a man’s world, after she made a name for herself. She had done it all on her own with only the help of her former research partner Lori and current research partner Jackson.

 At first, she had said no both to Johns Hopkins and then later NYU. She said she didn’t have time. Said her patients came first. She gave up her own daughter to pursue the greater good, why would she make time for other peoples’ children.

But Johns Hopkins said they just needed her to take a look around, give some advice, not much time but still bad timing. And NYU, though it would be more time consuming, had been persistent and after several contract negotiations, she said yes under two conditions. In lieu of a salary, NYU would help fund the Manhattan Institute for as long as she was a professor also allowing her to use their students, interns, or residents to help her do her research (Clarke just happened to be the first intern she chose). And the second, only if she could teach whatever class she wanted. She knows exactly how far ethics can take you. She knows to most students this class is boring and seemingly unnecessary. But Luna was insisted that they adjust the curriculum to her syllabus. Even if one student out of a thousand found this particular subject interesting, that’s still one more person. One more person using viable methods to research. One more doctor with that much more inclination to do the right thing.

She looks out across the lecture hall. Her med students, weary and hidden behind electronics, avoid eye contact. Except for one. Blonde. Blue eyed. And seemingly too eager for a cold January morning like this.

Luna clears her throat and begins.

**The MICR**

**February 2016**

**Luna’s Office**

It occurs to her now, thinking about Johns Hopkins and Clarke in the same context, that the classroom was not their first encounter. And the more she thinks about it, the more time she spends with Clarke, the more she believes in these kinds of coincidences. Thinking about their very first encounter, though it they didn’t actually truly meet, she is sure that fate exists in some small way.

She turns over a piece of paper on her legal pad as more voices tumble out of the recorder and Luna is hit with memories she had forgotten about.

**Baltimore**

**May 2007**

**Penn Station**

She knew she would be pushing it. She should have said no. Or rescheduled. But Johns Hopkins wanted their facilities and curriculum looked at as soon as humanly possible. It was the end of term and if Luna came now they could have all summer to renovate and rewrite their curriculum to match Luna’s suggestions. So she came.

She figured Friday would be enough. She’d tour their facilities and be home in time for the awards dinner the next day. Even with Luna having to stay until Saturday morning, she would still have time to make it back to Manhattan, grab her dress from the cleaners, throw on some make up and jewelry, and gets to the ceremony right on time. What she didn’t count on was George W. Bush touring Baltimore to assess the cities declining infrastructure and skyrocketing unemployment rate. The president’s cavalcade and security measures were messing up train and bus schedules for all the university students trying to get home for summer break, leaving them and Luna stuck in the dilapidated train station longer than necessary.

She’s already missed two trains heading to New York due to overbooking and the next one departing is all the way across the station. People are clustered in tight masses, suitcases and bags littering the floor. Luna checks her watch with her heart in her throat. If she leaves on the very next train, she can still make it to the awards dinner. She’ll just have to wear a dress she already has at her apartment, maybe the blue one.

She’s calculating exactly how much time she will need to get back to New York then her apartment uptown and back down to midtown in time for the 7:30 reception and 8:00 dinner and ceremony, when she notices the blonde for the first time. The blonde she would later come to know as Clarke. She is with a black-haired girl and a brown-haired girl and they are all trying to organize the crowd into navigable lanes and helping the elderly and people with physical disabilities traverse the busy train station.

A spark in her memory leads Luna to now deduce that the black-haired girl is Clarke’s best friend Raven, whom she’s met several times in passing. The brown-haired girl must be Octavia. She and Luna have never met, but she’s heard plenty of stories. There’s a tall boy with blonde hair as well. Luna doesn’t know him. There is not the slightest bit of recognition as she combs through her memories. He’s not doing much, but looking mildly putout.

“Drew, help us!” Raven calls out to the tall blonde boy. He gives an irritated look at Clarke

Luna slips into one of the channels Clarke made and makes it to her train with a few minutes to spare.

 She looks out across the platforms and catches sight of the group again. Raven and Clarke reach the train bound for Philadelphia two platforms down from where Luna sits waiting. A boy with dark curly hair joins them and promptly scoops Octavia in a hug. Octavia hugs her best friends goodbye, while the boy named Drew stands a few feet back checking his watch. Octavia, Raven, and the black-haired boy (… Bellamy!...It comes to Luna all of a sudden. He’s Octavia’s brother and is also featured in a bunch of Clarke’s stories). Octavia, Raven, and Bellamy board the train waving goodbye. Clarke stands waving back and reaching for Drew’s hand, but he’s already half way to the exit.

5 minutes later, Luna’s train pulls out, crossing Baltimore’s landmark Charles Street Bridge with its crumbling paint and rusted rivets. Below her, Luna can see Penn Station’s parking lot nestled between the timeworn buildings with their tin ornamentation. In the middle of the lot, two tiny figures stand in front of a car. She thinks it’s Clarke and Drew and based on their body language, Luna understands why Drew isn’t familiar in any way to her.

**Manhattan**

**10:57pm later that night**

**2 nd ave and 105th St**

Luna sits in her dark apartment and cries. Tears of joy. Tears of relief. Of pride. Of fear and regret. She allows herself this one moment of expression. She’s so proud of Lexa. Lexa’s speech was beautiful. She’s grown to be such a beautiful person. Inside. And out. And everywhere in between.

**NYU Med School**

**May 2013**

**A Lecture Hall**

The semester has flown by. Finals are next week. Luna barely noticed it. Her first semester teaching is almost over and she’s sure there’s only one student that truly cares about the intricacies of ethics in medicine and research. She’s come to learn that that student’s name is Clarke Griffin. A hard worker and well-respected by peers. She doesn’t interact with Clarke much, but Luna can tell that the young doctor is going places.

Luna finally looks at the clock at the back of the Lecture hall. She checks her watch just to be sure. She had run over time, too ensconced in the proprieties of clinical methodology and other important details sure to be on the final exam. She begins to ask the sea of students why they didn’t stop her to tell her class is over. The sea is but a small puddle. The only students that haven’t left yet are either asleep or Clarke.

“Ms. Griffin. Why are you still here?”

“Until you got nothing left to teach me this is where I belong.”

Luna gives a small smile. She normally reserves these smiles for when she has a breakthrough in her research. She gives a dismissive nod Clarke and they both begin to pack up their things. “Clarke?”

“Yes, Dr. Bateau?”

“Do me a favor and wake up your classmates.”

Clarke gives a small chuckle. “Of course.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you at the final next week.”

 **St. Luke’s Hospital**  
**December 2015  
The Cafeteria**

“I want to comeback. I’m ready. But. I’m so closed to finishing residency in neuro. SO I figured why not? Never hurts to have a detailed knowledge of the brain. But I want to do an oncology fellowship as well. I think that is where I am supposed to be.”

It was never Luna’s intention to lure Clarke to the field of oncology. But she’s not sorry she did. Clarke would be excellent in whatever specialty she chose. But she knows with every fiber of her being that Clarke was made for _this_.

Luna can’t help but bust Clarke’s chops a bit. “A fellowship? In oncology? Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Neuro is boring. Distant. Cold. Detached.”

Luna smiles. She can’t help it. She was right about neurosurgery. She was right about Clarke.

“I understand. You are none of those things. You had a moment of doubt. It happens. But you have healed.”

Clarke ashamedly dips her head. A curtain of blonde protecting her face. “I have. And I have mended stronger than ever.”

Luna sighs evenly. “I must stress, Clarke, that it never gets any easier. You will always feel the weight of these things.”

“I know, Luna.” A hand reaches across the table and engulfs Luna’s. “But I’m stronger now, remember? I can carry that weight a little better. I can carry it like you do.”

Luna gives a muted laugh, but feels pride swelling in her chest. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Clarke. So I’m guessing you’d like to do your fellowship at the MICR?”

Clarke gives her a mischievous smirk. “If that’s not too much to ask?”

“Get the paperwork together and I’ll approve it.”

Clarke squeals.

“You are sure this is what you want?”

Clarke nods emphatically. “Until you got nothing left to teach me, with you is where I belong, remember?”

Luna is touched by Clarke, the fact that she remembered one of their first benign encounters. So touched that she stands without thinking and open her arms. “It’ll be nice to have you back.”

Clarke gives her their customary hug and extra pat on the back. “Thank you.” Luna doesn’t bulk at Clarke’s ‘thank you’ like she used to. They part ways, but just before Clarke exits the cafeteria she calls out, “You were right, you know.”

Luna turns, puzzled. “About what?”

“I was born for this. Same as you,” she flashes Luna a brilliant smile before she turns on her heel and leaves.

**The MICR**

**February 2016**

**Luna’s Office**

The voices of strangers continue to play, mixing with the tapping of flakes against her window. The window is a phantasmagoria of prisms now, each melted droplet clinging to the glass. Holding on for dear life before the weight of its brothers and sisters combines with its own and they all plummet together down the pane in a streak of colorful reflections.

Thinking about Clarke, watching her through her memories, become the doctor she is, makes the regret of not being an active part of Lexa’s life sting like fingernails cuts short. Raw. Exposed.

She’s watched Lexa only from the sidelines, much of that had been Lexa’s choice. She knows Lexa is successful. She knows Lexa is very, very smart. Beautiful. She has Luna’s hair color and her high cheekbones. Is it possible to miss someone you don’t really know? It’s definitely possible to regret letting them go.

She knows Lexa in some way. Second-hand. Observing her grow from a distance, like an experiment she’s no longer allowed to physically interfere with. Encouraging Lexa’s success clandestinely. Having Indra and Gustus recount Lexa’s triumphs. It broke Luna’s heart when Lexa chose not to meet her all those years ago. But thanks to the anchored adoption she set up a week after Lexa’s birth, she still got to watch Lexa grow up. And help her become whoever she wanted to be. All in secret.

She knows Lexa is kind-hearted. She founded an organization. It teaches children how to be strong and mindful and purposeful. Luna was proud of her. She was there the night she watched it come to fruition. Despite the trains running haywire, Luna made it to the Future Leaders of America awards dinner. The night that Lexa made a speech that inspired an entire room. Lexa’s commanding presence had been captivating. Luna can still remember the exact timber of her voice. The crests and the falls. The passion and emotion in each word. It has stuck with her with all these years. She can remember it almost as if she is hearing it right now.

“…I would be grateful if you could help in some way.”

Luna stops mid-thought and looks at the computer. It’s still playing messages back to her.

“Anyway, as I said my name is Lexa Woods. If you can take our case, please call me…”

Luna pounds the pause button as quickly as she can, her mug swaying with the impact. She stares wide eyed at the computer screen. Two messages flashing. Delete? Playback? She stands taking several deep breaths.

Did Lexa find her? Does she want to know her? Or is this just some trick of destiny? Is this the fate Clarke and her father spoke of? Her mind slows. And reason returns. Lexa doesn’t know who she is. If she did she would have called the personal number she gave to Indra in case Lexa ever expressed an interest in meeting her mother. No, this was just a coincidence.

Slightly broken-hearted she takes one last deep breath and sits down. She clicks the button for playback.

“Hello, this is Lexa Woods…um…er…”

Luna hangs on every word. Her heart filling with hope for some reason. She can detect a knot of nervousness in Lexa’s tone. But the next words out Lexa’s mouth makes Luna sit back in her chair.

“I am at a convention for non-profit organizations. I met a woman. Her name is Alie. She said she knew someone named Clarke. And Clarke referred me to you.” There is a long pause on the line while Lexa takes what sounds like a shivering breath. Luna tries to cope with the fact that Lexa hasn’t intentionally called her.

“I have a young lady in my organization that has just been diagnosed with leukemia. I don’t know any more about it. I just found out today. Her name is Ontari. And she has been through enough already.” Luna can hear the tears creeping into Lexa’s tone. The passion emerging. “I would be grateful if you could help in some way. Anyway, as I said, my name is Lexa Woods. If you can take our case, please call me at 712-555-5392”

Luna runs her fingers through her graying hair. Once the color of Lexa’s. She is having a crisis of self. This is a huge conflict of interest. She’s going to take the case. She knows it. Even without the chance to meet and truly know Lexa, she would try to save the little girl.

Headlights twist into the window from the street outside, temporarily illuminating the droplets on the window. Stained glass.

She would never press herself upon Lexa. She never did. Not once. They one time they had been within 5 feet of each other had been a total accident. Luna doesn’t truly believe in fate. But the longer she spends with Clarke, the more she is able to recognize its strings.

And she thinks this might be one.

She knows what she needs to do. She’s going to tell Lexa the whole truth. And let her make the decision. Luna will volunteer to not be the lead doctor on the case of course, but she’s going to invite them to the MICR. It’s the best in the country. Ontari deserves the best. And the best doctor needs to come back to the institute a little early to start her fellowship.

Luna picks up her phone. Two rings.

“Hey, Luna. Been a hot minute. How are you?”

“Clarke.” She lets her breath settle.

“Luuuuuna” Clarke says playfully.

“I need you.” Her tone is darker than she intends it to be. Clarke had utter those exact words to her. The irony is not lost on her.

Clarke must pick up on it, too. “Of course. How can I help?”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Click here to TUMBLE](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/paintthebrain) with me.
> 
>   * Behind the scenes: I have written very intricate timelines for both Lexa and Clarke. I have decided to post non-spoilery portions of the time line (parts that have already come to pass in the fic). You can view them on my tumblr with #aRatimeline
>   * Fun Fact: The walls in the mall are totally, totally tall.
>   * For further discussion: Do you think everything happens for a reason?
> 



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